


The Source of Magic

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-07
Updated: 2007-02-26
Packaged: 2019-01-19 23:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 113,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: At the start of his 7th year, a stranger from his mother’s past arrives to help Harry find the remaining Horcruxes — and teach him to attain the power the Dark Lord knows not.The race against time to destroy the cunningly concealed Horcruxes takes you to dark realities where Voldemort reigns supreme.A story to make you think…   ...





	1. Order of the Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

 

**Story Summary**

At the start of his 7th year, a stranger from his mother’s past arrives to help Harry find the remaining Horcruxes – and teach him to attain the _power the Dark Lord knows not_. Harry learns surprising things about his mother.   
  
The Ministry of Magic, increasingly under Voldemort’s thumb, attempts to infiltrate Hogwarts, but the feisty Headmistress McGonagall is equal to the challenge. The race against time to destroy the cunningly concealed Horcruxes takes the reader to dark realities where Voldemort reigns supreme. 

A story to make you think … with a little mystery, romance, adventure, philosophy, and humour along the way. 

This fic is complete and I'll be posting all twenty chapters as fast I can.

It is canon-compliant up to Book 6, and does not follow on from my previous fic: _The Ghost of Godric Gryffindor_. 

Special thanks to my betas Lisa725 and Pam for doing a wonderful job.  


 

_**Chapter 1 ~ Order of the Phoenix** _

_Tap … tap … tap … tap … tap_. Harry turned over, pulling the bedcovers over his head. _Tap … tap … tap … tap … tap_. There it was again. Harry peered out from under the covers in the direction of the persistent tapping. It was coming from the window, but all he could see was a reddish blur. Sleepily, he fumbled for his glasses and put them on lopsidedly.

Suddenly, he was awake. Illuminated in the moonlight on the other side of the window was a phoenix — Harry was sure it was Fawkes — Dumbledore’s phoenix. Painful memories of Dumbledore’s death filled his head as they had so often in the past month. There was the familiar tightness in his stomach and difficulty breathing. But this time they didn’t last because the phoenix began singing its beautiful soothing song, leaving Harry feeling calm and peaceful.

“Fawkes?” he said, throwing the window open. The beautiful phoenix flew into the room coming to rest gently on his shoulder. For a brief moment the phoenix stared directly at Harry with his deep black eyes and slowly seemed to nod his head, as if in confirmation. Then, in a flash of red and gold, he was gone. Harry ran to the window, but he could see nothing except the boring gardens of Privet Drive, lying eerie and empty in the moonlight.

Harry was mystified. He was sure it had been Fawkes. _But where had he come from? Where has he been all these weeks since … since Dumbledore was killed? Why had he mysteriously appeared tonight? And why had he vanished as suddenly as he had come?_ Harry was confused. He turned on the light and began walking purposefully about the room, searching. Perhaps Fawkes left something behind — a message maybe?

Then he saw it lying on his bed, a golden feather! Harry grabbed it and examined it carefully. _Didn’t Dumbledore_ _sometimes use Fawkes for messages?_ But it was just a beautiful phoenix feather. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the clock in the hallway downstairs chiming midnight. _It’s my birthday,_ he thought. It was July 31st, and he was seventeen. At last he was of wizarding age, and no longer subject to the Ministry of Magic’s _Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry_. 

Harry picked up his wand and rolled it between his fingers, contemplating it purposefully. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Now, he could do magic whenever he wanted. The long wait was over. He threw open the lid of his trunk and began packing his possessions, to be ready first thing in the morning. Tomorrow he would leave the Dursleys; tomorrow he would take up the mission Dumbledore had begun. He would search for the remaining Horcruxes, and he would not rest until he had found them, and destroyed them all; then he would go after Voldemort. He was sure it was what Dumbledore would have wanted him to do.

He had returned to the Dursleys after the funeral because he knew Dumbledore wanted him to receive the final benefit of the blood magic that protected him while he was living with his Aunt Petunia. He had resolved to stay there for a month, until he turned seventeen and came of wizarding age. He hated being with the Dursleys and the feeling was mutual, he knew. Apart from meals, he spent most of the time in his room, often pacing up and down, constantly reliving the final moments of Dumbledore’s life. Why had Dumbledore put a Freezing Charm on him? Harry knew he could have helped him; together, they could have dealt with Malfoy and the Death Eaters. Not only had Dumbledore prevented Harry from helping him, but the time it took to put the charm on Harry had denied Dumbledore the chance to block Malfoy’s Expelliarmus, costing him his wand, rendering him defenceless, and ultimately leading to his death. 

Professor Dumbledore had been the wisest, most powerful wizard he had ever known. It was not until his death that Harry realised how important Dumbledore was to him. Sometimes he had been like a father, sometimes a mentor, and always his protector … right to the end. Harry missed him more than he could ever have imagined. Yet at times he was overcome with rage at Dumbledore: for being so wrong about Snape; for allowing Draco Malfoy to continue with his plot to kill him, when he had known about it all year; but mostly, he was angry at Dumbledore for dying and leaving him alone — alone with the impossible task of defeating Voldemort. 

He had heard nothing from the wizarding world since school, apart from a few owls from Ron and Hermione. He was both annoyed and relieved that Ginny seemed to be ignoring him. He had heard nothing from McGonagall, Lupin, or the Order of the Phoenix, although he suspected they were probably keeping tabs on him. If they were, they better not make trouble for him tomorrow and try to stop him leaving, or tell him where he should go, or what to do — or Scrimgeour and the Ministry of Magic. They had all better stay out of his way!

As he packed his trunk, there was a sense that the endless waiting was over, and although he had no idea how to proceed, at least he was doing something at last. Suddenly, he froze, with a pair of socks in his hand. The phoenix feather he had dropped on the bedside table was glowing! Instinctively, Harry picked up his wand and touched it to the feather. There was a flash of light, and in place of the feather, was a scroll of parchment neatly tied with a golden ribbon, the same colour as the phoenix feather. Inscribed along the edge of the scroll in red lettering, in a narrow, familiar hand, were the words: _Harry Potter_. Harry tore off the ribbon and eagerly unfurled the message.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_By the time you read this I will sadly have departed the world of the living. My one great regret is that fate should deny me my greatest desire — to stand by you until the very end._

_But Harry, do not believe yourself to be alone in the difficult and dangerous journey that lies ahead. It is foretold that a stranger will come to aid you, to help you fulfil your great destiny._

_I have summoned him. He will reveal himself to you with these words: ‘I too received an order of the phoenix’._

_Trust him!_

_Albus_ _Dumbledore_

Harry shook his head, as he re-read the message over and over. Dumbledore knew he was going to die when he wrote it. _But how could he know? wondered_ Harry. _And what did he mean by it being foretold that a stranger would come to aid him? There was nothing in the prophecy about anyone coming to help him. Was there another prophecy?_ Harry lay down on his bed, his head spinning. Who was this person? It was a _he_ , so it must be a wizard. Was it anyone he knew? How long would it be before he revealed himself? 

Harry felt impatient. But despite the confusion and all the unanswered questions, for the first time since that terrible moment when Dumbledore died, he felt a small spark of hope. All hope had been crushed in that terrible moment when it felt like the weight of the world had fallen on his shoulders. With Dumbledore gone, he had no idea how to find the remaining Horcruxes — and no idea how he could defeat Voldemort.

Suddenly, soundlessly, from nowhere a man appeared, sitting casually in the chair by the desk, grinning at him. Harry jumped up, grabbed his wand, and pointed it at the intruder. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Jason Trolove,” replied the stranger calmly. Then with a wink he added, “I, too, received an order of the phoenix.” He stood and extended his right hand, saying, “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Harry.”

Harry stood awkwardly; dropping his wand on the bed, he shook the stranger’s hand. “Err … yeah, nice to meet you, too.” The stranger was tall and slender, with blond hair pulled back in a pony tail. He had a strikingly angular face with high cheekbones. He didn’t look much like a wizard; he certainly was not dressed like a one, but neither was he dressed like a Muggle. He wore a loose turquoise shirt with wide sleeves and dark blue baggy cotton pants. He exuded a sense of deep calm and stillness; yet his eyes, which were a piercing blue, seemed to penetrate to the very depths of Harry’s soul, making him feel most uncomfortable.

The stranger let go of Harry’s hand and sat back in the chair, looking at him intently with a curious smile on his face. Harry sat clumsily on the bed. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he seemed unable to speak beneath the stranger’s intense gaze. Finally, he blurted out, “Did you really receive a message from Dumbledore’s phoenix?”

“Yes, indeed,” he replied, reaching into his shirt for a parchment and handing it to Harry. “Fawkes found me in a remote cave high in the Himalayas. You may read it, if you like.”

_Dear Jason,_

_By the time you read this I will have passed on from this world._

_The time has come for you to return and fulfil your part in the prophecy. His name is Harry. Greet him with these words: ‘I too received an order of the phoenix’._

_But first, go to Hogwarts and speak with Professor McGonagall; she will be expecting you. Ask her to bring you up to date on events in the wizarding world over the past twenty years._

_You cannot have forgotten the prophecy or the part that you must play._

_Do this with all your heart, Jason — do this for her._

_Albus_ _Dumbledore._

“Where have you been?” asked Harry. “If you’ve been away twenty years, you must have left just as Voldemort was rising to power. Why did you run away?” he demanded, wondering how Jason was going to help him if he hadn’t stayed to fight the last time.

“It wasn’t Voldemort I was running away from,” said Jason, smiling wistfully. “But we’ll come to that, in a while.”

Harry noticed that Jason was not afraid of using Voldemort’s name; that, at least, was reassuring. “What prophecy is Dumbledore talking about? Did Trelawney give another prophecy?”

“Professor Trelawney was after my time at Hogwarts, but I heard about her prophecy from Professor McGonagall, who seems somewhat sceptical about Trelawney’s powers. No, this was an earlier prophecy, and it was given by a true Seer.”

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Lily Evans.”

“What? My mother?” asked Harry, stunned. “I didn’t know she was into Divination and all of that. I never heard about her giving a prophecy.”

Jason smiled. “Well actually, she didn’t take Divination; she though it was a load of rubbish. And it wasn’t until fifth year that she began having significant premonitions about the future; but she kept quiet about them, because what she saw frightened her. She confided only in me and eventually Professor Dumbledore. No one else knew anything about it.”

“You? Did you know my mother? Were you at Hogwarts with her? Were you a friend of hers?” asked Harry, jumping up from the bed. Over the years, he had acquired quite a lot of information about his father — who his friends were and his life at Hogwarts — but he knew virtually nothing about his mother. He had a deep yearning to know more. Harry realised he had been almost shouting in his excitement and became worried the Dursleys might have awoken. He turned towards the door, half expecting his uncle’s furious face to appear. Perhaps he should lock it; he did not want to have to explain what this stranger was doing in his room.

As if reading his mind, Jason said, “I made sure no one will overhear us or have the slightest desire to enter this room while I am here.” Jason paused for a while as if collecting his thoughts, and after letting out a deep sigh, he continued. “Lily and I met on our first journey on the Hogwarts Express and immediately became friends. We had a lot in common. We were both Muggle-born, and we both felt like outsiders when we started at Hogwarts. It wasn’t just Slytherins who made us feel that we didn’t belong; most pure-bloods, and even some half-bloods, treated us as if we were inferior.”

“I bet my dad and his friends weren’t like that,” said Harry.

“You may not want to hear it, Harry, but your father and his friends, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, were just as proud of their wizarding blood as the rest of them when they first came to Hogwarts. They thought they were better than us Muggle-borns, even if they didn’t actually put us down openly or call us names. Remus Lupin was one of the few who treated us decently from the start. Maybe it turned out to be a good thing for us. We had something to prove — that we could do magic as well as any pure-blood. Lily and I worked harder than anyone in our year. We were top of all our classes the whole way through Hogwarts. Eventually, we earned their respect.”

Harry thought about Hermione. Maybe it was the same thing with her, although he suspected somehow Hermione would have been just as obsessively hard-working and over-achieving had she gone to a Muggle school. “So were you in Gryffindor with my mum and dad, then?”

“No, the Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw; but Lily and I stayed best friends even though we were in different houses. We always studied together in the library. Lily hated it in the Gryffindor common room. She said your father and his friends were always showing off, being rowdy and noisy, and that it was impossible to get any work done.”

“So my mum didn’t get on with my dad and Sirius?” asked Harry.

“Not at all,” laughed Jason shaking his head. “She was always complaining about them being a pair of immature prats. The only Gryffindor she really liked was Remus. She discovered his secret almost immediately. I guess it was an early manifestation of the Sight, although she didn’t recognise it at the time. She was a very kind soul, your mother; she really felt for the suffering of others. Even after James, Sirius and Peter, discovered his lycanthropy, she was the only one Remus could ever talk with seriously about it. Lily had no other close friends in Gryffindor, but she was friendly with one of the Ravenclaw girls in our year, Miranda Malfoy.”

“Malfoy! My mother was friends with a Malfoy?”

Jason chuckled. “I see you’ve inherited your father’s prejudice rather than your mother’s tolerance.”

“I am not prejudiced,” said Harry angrily, “and I don’t believe my father was either. If you knew anything about the Malfoys, if you had any idea what Lucius and Draco Malfoy have been up to while you’ve been away, you wouldn’t be calling me prejudiced.”

“On the contrary, Professor McGonagall told me of their activities, including the part Draco played in Dumbledore’s death. And, I had the misfortune to be acquainted with Lucius Malfoy. He was a senior student and prefect when I started at Hogwarts, and he was the worst of the Slytherins. He despised all Muggle-born students, but he singled your mother and me out for special treatment. He was affronted at our success and infuriated that we were top of every class, ahead of all the pure-bloods. Lily and I both had very good reason to dislike the name Malfoy and hate everyone who bore it. But that is the essence of prejudice — _pre-judging_ a person on the basis of their family, race, religion — _or even_ their school house, rather than who they really are.”

“Miranda was a second cousin of Lucius Malfoy and bore the same name, but the resemblance ended there. She had none of his pure-blood arrogance and vanity. She was an intelligent, gentle person, with a thirst for knowledge that immediately attracted her to your mother. She was the first Malfoy in over a century not sorted into Slytherin, which incensed Lucius. He harassed Miranda almost as much as us.”

“So were the three of you best friends all the way through school?” asked Harry, thinking of the similarity with Ron, Hermione, and himself.

“Pretty much,” said Jason, falling into an uncomfortable silence, as if he was considering how to proceed. Harry noticed that he was no longer meeting his eyes. “Your mother and I were especially close … and then in our fourth year things changed. We were, err … growing up, and our friendship turned into something a bit more … romantic.”

“What? Are you saying you were my mum’s boyfriend?” demanded Harry, feeling rather strange — kind of like Ron being overprotective of Ginny. It was silly, he knew; after all, it was his mother, not his sister or daughter. But still, it made him angry. Maybe it was on his father’s account. He remembered Snapes’s memory of their fifth year from the Pensieve. His mother seemed to despise his father then — and in all honesty Harry couldn’t blame her. Lupin told him that his parents didn’t get together until their final year at Hogwarts, but still Harry felt resentful. “Yeah, but my dad won out in the end, didn’t he? My mum married him, not you.”

“Yes, she did,” said Jason with a sad sigh. “Please let me finish.”

Harry was eager to hear more about his mother, but not from this ex-boyfriend, towards whom he was beginning to feel rather hostile. According to Dumbledore, Jason was the one who was to aid him in the fight against Voldemort. But he didn’t look like much of a fighter; he didn’t even look like a particularly powerful wizard. Dumbledore’s message had given Harry hope that maybe he did have a chance. He had expected this prophesised ally to be a wise and powerful wizard, like Dumbledore himself. But so far Harry was not impressed. For a start, he’d been in Ravenclaw. Sure they were a brainy bunch, but Harry couldn’t think of many brave ones. Even a Hufflepuff, like Cedric Diggory, would have been a better comrade in battle than any Ravenclaw he could think of. And when the first war with Voldemort began, what did he do? He ran off to hide in a cave somewhere. 

“There was sometimes a fourth member to our little band of brainy bookworms. It was not someone I would exactly call a friend, but another outsider, like us, who shared our thirst for knowledge: Severus Snape.”

“Snape! That evil bastard who killed Dumbledore? You’re lying! My mother would never have had anything to do with Snape!” insisted Harry.

“As I told you, your mother was a very kind person whose heart was always open to those shunned and despised by others, and Severus fitted the bill in spades. When he arrived at Hogwarts, he was a complete social misfit without any idea of how to relate to others. He never spoke of his childhood, but I suspect it was extremely unpleasant. He was a loner who hid his social inadequacies beneath a persona of arrogance. Your father and Sirius responded by picking on him, and he returned their attentions in kind. An enmity quickly developed between them that lasted all through their school years.”

“And after,” chipped in Harry. “When I came to Hogwarts, Snape immediately decided I was just like my father — sometimes, I think he almost believed that I was my father because I look so much like him. It was like he was still trying to get even with my dad. Whatever my father did to him, it can’t have been so bad that Snape wasn’t over it after all those years!”

“What your father did to Severus was truly terrible, something which … well, we’ll get to that. Anyway, like I said, your mother understood that Snape was acting from pain, and she felt sorry for him. Although he despised her for being Muggle-born, by second year he couldn’t deny that she was not only very gifted magically, but also very intelligent. He grudgingly accepted both Lily and me when it came to collaborating on homework and assignments. There was Miranda, too, although she was a pure-blood so he had no prejudices to overcome there. All four of us had a great thirst for knowledge, and we all researched well beyond the Hogwarts curriculum. Our areas of interest were somewhat different, but sometimes they overlapped.”

“Yeah, I bet I know what Snape’s area of interest was — the Dark Arts!” spat Harry.

“True,” laughed Jason, “but all four of us were interested in Potions. Miranda and Lily were attracted to Charms. My interest was more general.”

“So the three of you did schoolwork and research together with Snape; but none of you were really friends with him?”

“No, not really what you might call friends … well not until our fifth year when something quite unexpected happened.”

“What?”

“Severus and Miranda became romantically involved.”

“Diggory,” said Harry with a shudder. “Well, she was a Malfoy, I guess.”

Jason shook his head at Harry’s prejudice. “Unlike a lot the other witches, Miranda was not obsessed in pursuing boys and all of that. But Severus and Miranda were together a great deal at a time when their hormones were developing, so I suppose it’s not too surprising. What is surprising is that a social misfit like Severus, who showed every sign of early emotional damage, was able to maintain a relationship for well over a year.” 

“How did it end?” asked Harry.

Jason shook his head and sighed. “Your father and Sirius hated Severus with a passion. They couldn’t bear to see him happy, so they decided to break up his relationship with Miranda. Your father set out to seduce Miranda, to get the ultimate one-upmanship on Snape.”

“Did he succeed?” asked Harry, torn between horror that his father could have done something so low, but at the same time hoping he succeeded — that bastard Snape deserved it.

“He waited for the holidays between sixth and seventh year, when Miranda was away from Severus, Lily, and myself, and more vulnerable to his considerable charms. He may have used a potion or some other magic to befuddle Miranda. I don’t know the circumstances, but he certainly succeeded. After sitting with his arm draped around her, gloating for all to see on the train back to Hogwarts at the start of seventh year, he dropped her the second week of term when he’d extracted enough satisfaction from Severus’ suffering.”

“That wasn’t very nice of him,” said Harry uncomfortably. “Well, that explains why Snape hated my dad so much — and why he’s still trying to get even with him — through me.”

“The consequences of what your father did were far greater than that.”

“What do mean?”

“It is certainly the reason Severus became a Death Eater soon after school.”

“What?”

“When Miranda realised that she’d been duped by James to get at Severus, she apologised and begged him to forgive her. She wanted to get back together. But something had been destroyed in Severus. It had taken a long time for him to learn to trust another person, to take a risk for friendship and finally love. It was as if the goodness which had been nurtured in him by his association with the three of us — and Miranda in particular — had shrivelled up and died. He became bitter and twisted, totally introverted and cut off from everyone. He never spoke with any of us again.”

“But he might have become a Death Eater anyway, even if my dad hadn’t done what he did. I mean, Snape loves the Dark Arts and all that.”

“It was a fascination, certainly, but he did not have that evil in him to want to harm others — at least not until Miranda betrayed him. Unlike most of her family, Miranda was not a supporter of Voldemort; she hated his ideas and aspirations. Even if Severus had been tempted to join, she would have kept him out of it, if they had stayed together. No, I am almost certain that Severus became a Death Eater as a direct consequence of your father’s actions. But what I do not yet understand is why he subsequently changed sides and joined Dumbledore, there’s a missing piece —”

“What? What are you talking about? Don’t you know?” cried Harry, “He never changed sides; he only pretended to! He fooled Dumbledore. But I’ve never trusted him — the evil slimeball!”

“Are you sure he didn’t change sides?” asked Jason quizzically.

Harry jumped to his feet in agitation. “Didn’t Professor McGonagall tell you how Dumbledore died? Well I can tell you, because I was there, I saw it with my own eyes. Snape killed him … with an Avada Kedavra Curse!”

“Yes, that’s what she told me,” said Jason, his eyes fixed on some distant point, lost in thought.

“So then how can you keep talking about Snape changing sides?” demanded Harry angrily. “Dumbledore got it wrong! Snape never changed sides; he was spying for Voldemort all along!”

“Maybe,” said Jason, still staring off into space, “and maybe not.”

This was too much for Harry. How was he going to work with this weirdo if he wasn’t even going to believe him? He was just like all the people who thought he was lying about seeing Voldemort return after the final Triwizard event. “If you’re not going to believe me, you can just get the hell out of here! Now!” yelled Harry angrily.

Jason snapped out of his reverie and looked at Harry. “You misunderstand me, Harry. I have no doubt that you accurately reported what you saw and heard. What I am uncertain about is whether it means what you think it means.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Harry, dropping back to his bed, feeling confused. “What else could it mean? You don’t think Dumbledore faked his death, do you? That he might still be alive?” asked Harry, not daring to hope it might be true.

“I wish it were so. And yes, that is one of the possibilities I have considered, but given the letters Dumbledore sent you and me, it seems most unlikely. I do not believe he would deliberately attempt to deceive us.”

“But then what other explanation is there, apart from the obvious one?” demanded Harry.

“Did it not strike you as strange that Dumbledore wrote messages to both you and me — and to Professor McGonagall — _before_ he died, in which he appeared to be certain he would be dead by the time they were read?”

“Err, yeah, I did wonder at the time … so, you’re saying he knew he was going to be killed….”

“Or planned to be killed, perhaps?”

“What? Why would he do that? How could he deliberately let himself die when he knew how much I needed him?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Harry. It is difficult to imagine that he would deliberately abandon you. But he may have devised a plan whereby sacrificing his own life would result in some strategic gain.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I remember, he was begging Snape not to do it. He didn’t want to die.”

“Are you certain? Could he possibly have been begging Severus to do it, to proceed with the plan? If Severus really was faithful to Dumbledore, he would have found it very difficult to kill him, even if it was Dumbledore’s wish.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Harry emphatically. “I think you are the one who is prejudiced now. You’ve been gone twenty years, and you think Snape is still your old school buddy. Well he’s not; he’s an utter, murdering, evil bastard of a Death Eater!”

“Perhaps,” said Jason. “I think we better leave it for now. There is only one way to find out, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked Harry. “The only one who knows for sure is Snape.”

“Exactly,” agreed Jason. “I am going to pay my old school chum a visit.”

“Are you mad? He’ll kill you!” said Harry, jumping up again. “He’s developed a lot of powers and learned a heap of magic — especially Dark Arts — since you were at school.”

“No doubt he has,” replied Jason, smiling, “but then so have I. It’s getting late, time for me to go. Oh, one more thing, Harry — please don’t go anywhere.”

“Who said I was planning to go somewhere?” asked Harry, angry that Jason was trying to tell him what to do. After all, it wasn’t like he was Dumbledore or even someone he trusted and respected like Lupin or Mr Weasley. What right did he have to be ordering him around!

“Well, I can see you’ve been packing your trunk, and I know that you are planning to leave here in the morning and set off to find Voldemort’s Horcruxes —”

“What makes you think that?” snapped Harry. As far as he knew, no one but he, Ron and Hermione knew about the Horcruxes, now that Dumbledore was dead.

“You,” said Jason.

“What? Are you a Legilimens, like Snape? But you didn’t say the spell, and I haven’t even seen your wand. I know I’m no good at Occlumency, but I would at least have felt an intrusion. How did you really find out? Does McGonagall know? Did she tell you? Or did Dumbledore tell you, or write about it in a message?”

“The last time I spoke with Professor Dumbledore was twenty years ago, and I have shown you the only message I have received from him since. As far as I know, McGonagall and the Order of the Phoenix know nothing about the Horcruxes. There is a great deal of magic that is unknown in the so-called wizarding world. There are spells, charms, curses, potions, and more, which are known only in certain parts of the world. I have picked up some useful bits and pieces of magic in my travels. For example, I can gain total access to the mind of another without them being able to either detect the intrusion or to block it.”

Harry was both impressed and outraged. Had he seen the thoughts he’d been having about Ginny for the past month? he wondered. The thoughts he was unable to stop, no matter how hard he tried.

“I know exactly what you are planning to do, Harry — although perhaps planning is not quite the right word, is it? The truth is you don’t have a plan; you don’t even know where you will go when you leave here tomorrow, and you haven’t got a clue how to find the remaining Horcruxes.”

“Well, I have to do something,” exclaimed Harry angrily, knowing Jason was dead right.

“It would be better to do something intelligent.”

“Like what?” demanded Harry rebelliously.

“For a start, stay where you are and stop acting as if you are on your own — you are not. But don’t bother to unpack your trunk. I understand Professor McGonagall will be coming to escort you to the Weasleys, where you are to spend the remaining month before returning to Hogwarts. And no, Hogwarts is not closing; and yes, you do need to return — you still have a great deal to learn — before you are ready to face Voldemort.”

Harry was furious; not just because Jason was telling him what do; not just because what he said made sense; but because he was obviously reading his mind and answering his questions before he could ask them. “Why should I do what you say? What right have you to tell me what to do?” demanded Harry defiantly.

“In his message, Professor Dumbledore asked you to trust me.”

_Damn it_ , thought Harry, _he’s doing it again. I never showed him Dumbledore’s message; he must have read it from my own mind._

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Jason, in response to Harry’s unspoken thoughts. “I know it’s rather rude, but I have a lot to do, and it’s by far the quickest way to find out what I need to know — especially with you being so evasive and secretive. I know you have your suspicions and doubts about me, but I believe you will continue to obey Professor Dumbledore’s last wishes and at least trust me a little longer. You have seen I have a skill that might be very useful for finding out where the remaining Horcruxes are hidden. I’ll visit you at the Burrow — and I promise to keep you updated about what I find out, OK?”

“OK,” mumbled Harry, resentfully.

“See you at the Burrow then,” said Jason.

“But you’re not really going to go looking for Snape are —” 

He stopped because Jason had disappeared.

Harry sighed. He felt betrayed by Dumbledore for sending this stupid, gutless Ravenclaw to help him. He had hoped for someone who would fill Dumbledore’s shoes, but this weirdo was a joke. OK, so he was pretty good — well, in fact a bit too good — at Legilimency, or whatever it was; but that aside, all he seemed good for was endless talk and spinning yarns. Sure, the stuff about his mum had been interesting, but then again, how much of it was really true? Somehow he couldn’t believe she had been with this git — especially when his dad had been so obviously keen on her. That part couldn’t be true; and Harry hated the way Jason talked about Snape — calling him Severus — as if he were some kind of decent human being. Maybe he’d spent too long in his cave; it must have affected his mind. Well, his delusions about Snape were going to get him killed. Even Ludo Bagman wouldn’t offer odds on Jason surviving that encounter, which would once more leave him alone, to face Voldemort. But then again, thought Harry, the useless git will never find Snape — not unless he wants to be found. So maybe he would see him at the Burrow after all. In any case, he would wait for McGonagall to come for him. He would set out by himself from the Burrow later — after he had worked out a plan … and it might be nice to see Ginny again — no, not Ginny — Ron and Hermione, he meant. 


	2. What Goes Around Comes Around

_**Chapter 2 ~ What Goes Around Comes Around** _

It was nearing midnight, and the Prime Minister was sitting in his office waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country; a country with which a _special relationship_ had existed for many years. More like a _special curse_ , thought the Prime Minister. For one thing, the President seemed incapable of grasping the concept of time zones and insisted on calling when the last children’s cartoon program was over, which unfortunately, was around midnight British time. The Prime Minister dreaded these calls. They usually involved the President enthusing about the next country God wanted him to liberate from tyranny and bless with peace and freedom. He would then tell the Prime Minister exactly how many troops he was expected to contribute in the fight for peace. These vexing thoughts were interrupted by a soft coughing sound behind him, which made him freeze like an animal caught in the headlights.

He knew that cough. Damn it, he would rather deal with the moronic President than that bunch of weirdoes.

“To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Minister of Magic,” said a froglike little man in a long silver wig from the small, dirty painting hanging in the far corner of the room.

“Look, really, I’m rather busy,” pleaded the Prime Minister. “The President is about to call on an urgent matter of state and —”

“We shall arrange for him to forget all about it,” said the little man in the painting. “We’ll just pop some comics beside his phone. The Minister of Magic is on his way.” 

The Prime Minister shook his head in resignation and sat up straight in his chair, squaring his shoulders, straightening his tie, and assumed his _dignified, yet nonchalant_ expression as bright green flames burst into life in the empty grate. A portly man appeared spinning within the flames. Climbing out, he unconsciously brushed the ash from his long, pin-striped cloak. He was carrying a ridiculous lime-green bowler hat in one hand.

“Prime Minister,” said Cornelius Fudge, striding forward with hand outstretched. “We meet again.”

The Prime Minister rose from his chair and shook hands. Then waving towards the visitor’s chair, he resumed his seat behind his large oak desk. “I wasn’t expecting _you_ … I thought that … err … that picture in the corner said _Minister of Magic_. Where is he?”

“Sitting before you, Prime Minister,” said Fudge with a slight bow of the head.

“You?” asked the Prime Minister. “But what happened to that other chap, err, Rupert Scavenger, wasn’t it? Odd-looking fellow; looked a bit like a lion.”

“Rufus Scrimgeour, was his name, Prime Minister. Sad business, very sad business, indeed.”

“Did something happen to him?” asked the Prime Minister warily, suspecting he was in for some bad news.

“Terrible business, tragic: He was murdered at his own desk in his office at the Ministry of Magic,” said Fudge shaking his head sombrely.

“But, how could such a thing happen? Surely you have adequate security systems in place?” said the Prime Minister, looking about anxiously. “I mean, with this maniac of yours on the loose … he’s still on the loose, I suppose? What’s his name?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Prime Minister; and yes, he is still very much on the loose.”

“Unusual name,” said the Prime Minister, uneasily. “I assume he must have been behind the assassination?”

“Yes, that is the unavoidable conclusion,” conceded Fudge fearfully. “What, with the Dark Mark hanging over —”

“The what?” asked the Prime Minister apprehensively. The alarm in Fudge’s voice was becoming contagious.

“But, err, we must not jump to hasty conclusions … we must follow due process. As soon as I was appointed Minister of Magic, I instigated a full and far-ranging inquiry.”

“I see. Well, anyway, congratulations, Minister Fudge, on your amazing reversal in political fortunes. If I recall correctly, it was only a year ago that you were sacked. I think you said the whole of your, err, community had been baying for your blood and demanding your resignation. I am most eager to hear how you managed to turn public opinion around so quickly and get yourself re-appointed. One cannot but admire a political resurrection like yours — and perhaps glean some useful tips, eh?”

“To be perfectly frank,” replied Fudge with a sigh, “no one else wanted the job … I mean not after what happened to the previous Minister, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes, quite,” replied the Prime Minister. “You have certainly shown commendable courage in stepping forward in this hour of need. I just hope you, err … well anyway, any progress with the assassination inquiry? I imagine you must be very keen to catch the culprits, before they, err ….”

“Actually, the terms of reference for the inquiry are not so much concerned with catching anyone; they are more aimed at discovering the weakness in our security systems that allowed the assailants to get to the Minister. My number one priority is to reinforce the personal security of the Minister of Magic — and other Ministry staff as well, of course.”

“Quite understandable, Minister, but you must be equally determined to apprehend the murderers and make them pay for this heinous crime. Surely you intend to use the full powers of your law-enforcement agencies and rally your … err, people, to battle and defeat this, err, what’s-his-name and his gang. I mean, one cannot simply allow criminal thugs like these to get away with … well, murder.”

Fudge blushed and cleared his throat several times before replying. “Unfortunately, it is not quite that simple Prime Minister. These thugs, as you call them, are very powerful, and they are gaining in strength daily. My predecessor set out to confront them. He waged war on them and attempted to defeat them —”

“Here, here!” interjected the Prime Minister enthusiastically (an automatic reflex from many years in the debating chamber).

“I have to tell you, Prime Minister, that he did not succeed in crushing them, and he, err —”

“Paid the ultimate price?” prompted the Prime Minister, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

“Quite. So, I have decided to take a somewhat different approach. I intend to use the Ministry’s security services more prudently.”

“To protect yourself?” suggested the Prime Minister with a cynical smile.

“And the Ministry generally: its employees and critical infrastructure. After all, I would be most remiss, in the discharge of my duties as Minister, if I failed to ensure the continuance of good governance and order.”

“Quite proper,” said the Prime Minister wryly. “And what do you plan to do about these thugs who seem determined to take over?”

“Thugs? I prefer not to use such a crude term, Prime Minister. Many of these people are from very good families — from our aristocracy, in fact. Many are people of means.”

“Well-heeled, upper-crust types, are they? Sound just like those beastly Conservatives,” said the Prime Minister distastefully.

“In any case,” continued Fudge, “it is by no means certain that their intention is to _take over,_ as you put it. I prefer to think of them as a ginger group with a legitimate ideology and a set of philosophical beliefs which, while never universally endorsed, have historically always had some currency in our world. Not everyone shares their views, but it is my considered opinion that the Ministry of Magic, as the administrative body of the Wizarding community, must remain impartial, above such philosophic spats, and not take sides.

“But you, yourself, told me just a year ago that this what’s-his-name and his followers were responsible for all the mayhem. The Brockdale Bridge collapse; the hurricanes in the West Country, which I recall you said were not hurricanes at all, but caused by rampaging giants,” said the Prime Minister, as he rose from his chair and began striding back and forth. “And the reports of hurricanes have continued, so presumably these giants are still at large. And we’ve had more mysterious murders — He-who-done-it again, no doubt? How can you talk about _philosophic spats_ and _ideological beliefs?_ These people are terrorists! They must be stamped out!”

Fudge sighed helplessly. “If only it was that simple, Prime Minister. But, they cannot be stamped out; they are far too powerful. What I am attempting to do is to reach a détente with them.”

“What?” exploded the Prime Minister. “They murdered the head of your government, and you’re just going to roll over and let them walk all over you? Are you sure your name isn’t _Neville Chamberlain?_ ” 

Fudge blushed again, and lowered his eyes as he attempted to justify himself. “Prime Minister, these people cannot be defeated. I have sent emissaries to see if we can reach some kind of, err … truce, with You-Know-Who.”

“Who?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Prime Minister. It is another name by which he is known.”

The Prime Minister shook his head in despair. Had he known what awaited him at Number 10 Downing Street, he would probably have remained on the backbenches. This was like some kind of surrealistic nightmare from which he was unable to awaken. 

“And then there are those blasted _misdemeanours_ of this You-Know-Who brute, draining all the hope and happiness out of people — and not just your people either, but mine as well — voters! They must still be breeding because there is still a lot of mist about. If you don’t get rid of them before the general election, I’ll go down in the worst landslide in electoral history!”

“As I said, Prime Minister, I am attempting to contain the havoc. I am hoping that if You-Know-Who and his supporters are left in peace by both the Ministry and others who oppose them, they will cease to behave in such violent, anti-social ways. _Live and let live_ , that is how I am branding my new policy.”

The Prime Minister, who had resumed his seat, was staring at Fudge, shaking his head in silent disbelief.

Fudge, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, rose quickly to his feet. Muttering something about sending some owls somewhere, he hurriedly shook the Prime Minister’s hand. He then clapped the ridiculous lime-green bowler hat on his head, threw some powder into the fireplace, and stepped into the emerald flames, vanishing with a whooshing sound.

The Prime Minister stared into the empty fireplace, still shaking his head. He suspected he would be dreaming about fat, quivering, pin-striped jellyfish wearing lime-green bowler hats tonight … rather than moronic monkeys choking on pretzels.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry was lying on his bed after dinner, wondering anxiously when Professor McGonagall would come. The Dursleys had made no comment about his birthday — either they didn’t know or they didn’t care. All Harry wanted was to see the last of them. He was packed and ready, and impatient to leave Privet Drive. Harry heard a knock, so he darted out of his room and positioned himself at the top of the stairs, which offered a clear view of the front door. He was just in time to see Dudley opening the door and finding a grey tabby staring up at him. Before he could slam the door shut, the cat shot through his legs and into the house. Dudley plodded after it, followed by his parents. They were all screaming murderous threats at the cat which led them a merry chase. Harry came downstairs laughing. When he entered the lounge, he found the Dursleys cautiously circling the cat, which was now sitting comfortably on Uncle Vernon’s armchair, glaring up at them disdainfully. None of them seemed at all eager to pick it up for fear of being clawed. When Harry entered the room Uncle Vernon turned on him. “You, boy, what are you grinning at? Get that mangy stray out of here, and be quick about it!”

But Harry made no move towards the cat, which was instantly replaced by a very stern-looking witch in emerald robes, glaring disapprovingly at the Dursleys, who stood frozen in terror. “Good evening,” she said coldly to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. “I have come to take Harry away. Potter, please pack all of your belongings. You will not be returning to this house again — ever.”

Harry’s heart leapt with joy at her words as he dashed from the lounge and bounded up the stairs three at a time. Never again would he have to live here with his horrible aunt and uncle — and his horrible cousin, Dudley. A long, lonely, miserable chapter in his life was finally drawing to a close, and despite all the uncertainties about the future, he somehow felt hopeful. Leaving the Dursleys was like a passage from childhood to adulthood. Harry grabbed Hedwig’s empty cage — she was out hunting, but she would find him — and dragged his trunk down the stairs.

When he re-entered the lounge, Professor McGonagall was glaring harshly at the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia’s face was chalk-white and Uncle Vernon’s was a sickly purple colour. Evidently they had been on the receiving end of a serious dressing-down. Spotting Harry, Professor McGonagall rose from her chair and brushed off her robes, as if she were banishing something rather unpleasant. She strode imperiously past the Dursleys without as much as a word of farewell. In the hallway, she waved her wand at the trunk and cage. They disappeared; Harry guessed she had sent them on ahead to the Burrow.

“You will accompany me using Side-Along-Apparation, Potter. Please grasp my arm firmly,” she said. Harry took the proffered arm. He caught sight of his aunt, uncle, and cousin Dudley staring through the lounge doorway; their faces were a mixture of disapproval, fear, and fascination. Harry just had time to give them one last defiant grin before everything went black and he was pressed so hard it was difficult to breathe. 

When the unpleasant feeling finally passed, Harry found himself standing in a country lane just beyond the fence of the Burrow. Professor McGonagall stopped outside the gate — obviously the Burrow was well-warded. She aimed her wand at the front-door, producing a loud knocking noise. Mrs Weasley emerged from the house and hurried up the path towards them, beaming happily. “Minerva, Harry, darling, there you are!” She touched the gate with her wand, and it sprang open. As soon as Harry was through the gate, she seized him in a bone-crushing embrace. “Harry, you’re all skin and bone, you poor boy! Those Muggles cannot have been feeding you properly. But I’ll soon put that to rights. Now, Minerva, will you come in for a cuppa?”

“Thank you, Molly, but I have too much to do at Hogwarts. I don’t know how I’ll ever be ready by September the first.” Then turning to Harry, she said sternly, “Potter, you are to stay here until you return to Hogwarts. The Burrow is very well protected; you will be safe here. Unless you receive specific permission from either Mr or Mrs Weasley, you are to remain within the boundaries of the Burrow. Is that perfectly clear?”

Harry was incensed that he was still being treated like a child after all he had been through. He had no intention of asking anyone’s permission when he decided it was time to leave The Burrow, and he was not planning on returning to Hogwarts either. He had his own path to follow, and it wasn’t as if it was something he had chosen — fate had chosen it for him. But still, he wasn’t about to defy the formidable Professor McGonagall to her face, so he mumbled ‘yes’, and was relieved to see her twist around and disappear.

Mrs Weasley led the way up the path to the front door. “We’ve all been waiting for you, Harry, dear; we have a little surprise in store for you.”

Before Harry could respond, Hermione burst through the front door and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around him. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she cried, thrusting a present into his hands. 

When Hermione released him, Ron grabbed him by the arm and dragged him inside the house and into the lounge where the table was covered in cakes and other birthday treats from Mrs Weasley’s kitchen. Harry saw Ginny sitting on the couch out of the corner of his eye; her cheeks were red, and she looked confused and uncertain. It took a great deal of effort not to look at her, but he had to be strong for her sake, he told himself. The monster he had been trying to subdue for the past month had just broken free of its shackles and was on the rampage.

“Happy birthday, mate,” said Ron, awkwardly shaking Harry’s hand while he gave him a gift, but Harry hardly heard him. He mumbled thanks to Ron and Hermione for their gifts and something about all the party food, but his mind was engaged elsewhere.

“You can thank Mrs Weasley and Ginny for the food,” said Hermione, looking at Harry pointedly. “And Ginny did all the decorations herself.”

Harry hadn’t even noticed the decorations; his whole attention had been fixed on Ginny from the moment he entered the room — even though he was looking everywhere but in her direction. 

Finally Ginny spoke. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she said, walking up to him hesitantly and giving him what was intended to be a brief hug. 

But the moment she was in his arms, Harry lost the plot entirely. All his good intentions dissolved; he just could not let her go. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her familiar scent, hugging her tightly. It was only the sound of heavy footsteps, and someone clearing their throat loudly and pointedly behind him that broke the spell. He released Ginny and looked up. Mr Weasley was looking down at him in a very peculiar way. But he recovered himself, and wished Harry a happy birthday and welcomed him to the Burrow before rejoining his wife in the kitchen, leaving the young people to get on with their celebrations.

Turning towards the couch, Harry noticed Ron looking at him in a distinctly unfriendly way. Here we go again, he thought, as Ron finally turned away and switched on the old wooden wireless set. Harry sat on the couch between Ginny and Hermione, his emotions in complete turmoil. He needed time to regroup, to sort things out in his head, but for the moment, sitting on the couch next to Ginny, all he could do was savour the wonderful feeling of being close to her again. 

“When did you get here?” he asked Hermione, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Just this morning,” she replied. “I spent three weeks in Tuscany with my parents — it was really interesting and the countryside is incredibly beautiful.” While Hermione was talking, Harry turned towards Ginny. She met his gaze with an intensity that took his breath away. While their eyes were locked, she reached for his hand. Harry smiled and took a deep breath, gently squeezing her hand in his; it felt so good. All his resolutions of the past month had evaporated in less than a minute. It’s my birthday today, he told himself; tomorrow I’ll beat myself over the head for being so feeble-minded and wishy-washy. 

Hermione was still talking, but Harry hadn’t caught much of it. “Err, what?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. “Have you been getting the _Daily Prophet_?” she asked him for the third time.

“No, I thought I’d give myself a break from all the bad news for a while. Why? Has anything serious happened?”

“Then you don’t know?” asked Ron, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the table, strategically positioned near the food.

“Know what? Has someone been killed?” Harry asked warily, wondering if it was anyone he knew.

“Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic,” said Hermione.

“What? But, he must have been really well protected everywhere he went.”

“He was killed at the Ministry of Magic,” said Ginny, “a couple of weeks ago, right in his own office. Dad’s been saying for ages that the Ministry has been compromised and there are Death Eaters in high places. There was no break-in; it was an inside job. They fired the Dark Mark over the Ministry just to make sure everyone knew who did it — except, of course, Fudge hushed it up.”

“Fudge?” asked Harry. “What’s he got to do with it?”

“Well, after Scrimgeour got it,” said Ron, quickly swallowing a mouthful of cake, “obviously no one wanted to be Minister of Magic — it was a death warrant — no one except Fudge, that is. He was the only candidate, so now the great git is Minister of Magic again.”

“Oh, no,” groaned Harry. “Not that pompous idiot Fudge, again. I’m with Voldemort on this one. I hope he gets him soon.”

“Harry! How can you say such a terrible thing — even about Fudge,” scolded Hermione. “Anyway, Fudge may not be as much of an idiot as people think, at least not when it comes to looking after his own interests.”

“How do you mean?” asked Harry, brushing fingers with Ginny as he took a slice of cake from her.

“Well,” said Hermione, “Scrimgeour really gave the Death Eaters a hard time. The Auror division had carte blanche to use whatever methods they wanted; he wasn’t bothered about legal niceties, he was utterly ruthless. Considering Voldemort has been out in the open for the past twelve months, you have to admit that Scrimgeour was pretty successful in keeping a lid on Death Eater activity, even if there were a few attacks.”

“So Voldemort knocked him off?”

“Right,” replied Hermione, “and he couldn’t have wished for a better replacement.”

“Why?”

“Fudge has decided to treat Voldemort and the Death Eaters like a bunch of errant boy scouts. He has classified them as a political group who are perfectly entitled to their pure-blood ideology.”

“What?” exclaimed Harry, gobsmacked. “Does Fudge think it’s OK for them to go around killing Muggle-borns and Squibs and anyone who opposes their ideas?”

Hermione shook her head. “He claims that if Voldemort and his supporters are left alone, they will be happy to have tea parties and sit around and talk about how pure their blood is and not bother any one. He claims the only reason they have been attacking people is because Scrimgeour attacked them in the first place.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“ _Live and let live_ is his new motto,” said Ginny. “And as a _good-will gesture_ , he has freed all the Death Eaters who were caught in the raid at the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic last year.”

“What?” demanded Harry, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fudge let Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them out of Azkaban? How the hell can he justify that?”

“He claims they were provoked by Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix,” said Ginny scathingly. “He’s trying to make the Order into the big bad bogey that has been provoking the Death Eaters to misbehave — it’s all too absurd; it would be laughable if it weren’t so serious. The Order of the Phoenix has been declared an illegal organisation, while Voldemort is free to carry on recruiting more Death Eaters and gaining strength until he’s ready to make his move — and take over.”

“It sounds like he’s already taken over,” said Harry despondently. “I mean, Fudge has to be working for Voldemort; it’s either that or he’s under the Imperius Curse — maybe he even helped to get rid of Scrimgeour.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Hermione. “I think he just desperately wanted to be Minister of Magic again. Having tasted power, he’s become addicted to it. After he got tossed out a year ago, there seemed no way he would ever be in a position of responsibility again, let alone Minister of Magic. But when no one else would take the job, he saw his chance — and grabbed it. We all know he’s neither brave nor courageous. He wouldn’t have taken the job unless he had a survival plan. He’s not as stupid as people think — he’s actually been quite cunning. By appeasing Voldemort, he’s become an asset to him. The Death Eaters have no reason to get rid of him for the moment.”

“So why has Fudge turned the Auror division into a personal bodyguard then?” asked Ron. “All they do now is guard him and his cronies.”

“Because he’s paranoid,” replied Hermione. “Remember how he was convinced that Dumbledore was after his job? And Voldemort is not the most rational of men — nor someone whose actions are remotely predictable. He could turn on Fudge at any time for no reason. Then there’s the Order of the Phoenix; Fudge is probably afraid of them as well.”

Harry shook his head. “Just the kind of news I wanted to hear on my birthday. I can’t imagine anything worse.”

“Well, here it comes then,” said Ron. “Fudge created a new position — Deputy Minister of Magic — and guess who got it? That toffee-nosed git, Percy. He’s now Fudge’s right-hand man. His first job was to purge the Ministry of anyone not personally loyal to Fudge; and guess who he fired first? Dad!”

“Bastard!” spat Harry. “Err, how’s your father managing without a job — is he, you know, OK for money,” he asked softly. “You know, I could —”

“You needn’t worry,” said Ginny, squeezing his hand. “Fred and George are doing really well with their joke shop. They put a whole pile of gold in Mum and Dad’s vault at Gringotts. And Dad is now working full time for an illegal organisation,” she said with a grin.

“Percy fired Tonks, too. The git has his own personal Auror guard,” said Ron, contemptuously. “But I don’t think it’s Death Eaters or the Order he’s worried about, I reckon it’s Fred and George.”

Mrs Weasley, who had just come into the lounge, gasped at Ron’s words. She looked like she was about to start crying as she usually did at the mention of Percy’s name. After a sniffle or two, she hurried them all off to bed. 

Harry was again in the twins’ old room. His trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage were already there. Climbing into bed, he reflected on everything that had happened today. The news about Fudge was really depressing. But as he lay in bed, it was not Fudge that occupied his mind, but the memory of Ginny’s hand in his and the wonderful feeling of just sitting next to her. He knew he had totally broken all his resolutions about keeping his distance from her. But it didn’t matter what happened at the Burrow, he told himself, because Voldemort would never know about it. And anyway, he was planning to leave soon, on his own — so there was no harm in him and Ginny being together a little longer, was there? 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The following morning, Harry walked down to the pond with Ron and Hermione after breakfast. They sat under a large shady tree and Harry told them about Fawkes’ midnight visit and showed them the message from Dumbledore. 

“It’s kind of spooky getting a message from someone who’s dead,” said Ron with a shudder. “How do you reckon Fawkes knew when to deliver it?”

“What I’m more interested in knowing is how Dumbledore knew he’d be dead by Harry’s birthday,” said Hermione, thoughtfully. “I mean it’s only a month since….”

“You don’t suppose he could still be alive … somehow?” suggested Ron hopefully. 

Harry shook his head; then he told them about the visit from Jason and everything he’d said. “After Dumbledore’s message and the stuff about someone coming to help me get rid of Voldemort, it was pretty bloody disappointing,” said Harry bitterly as he ripped up some grass. “He really does not look the part at all.”

Ron shared Harry’s view about Jason. “Typical pathetic Ravenclaw, if you ask me — just like Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstein. They’re all very well when it comes to swotting stuff up in the library, but bloody useless when the crunch comes.”

Hermione snorted. “Ron, you are even more prejudiced than Harry! I, for one, would be very interested to meet Jason and hear what he has to say — if he doesn’t mind, that is. I think you should meet him, too, and judge him on his merits — rather than the house he was in at school twenty years ago, you house bigot!”

Before Ron could retaliate and start a slanging match with Hermione, which would probably end up in one of their full-on fights, Harry jumped in. “I just don’t understand why Dumbledore thought this Trolove character could help me; but then the last time Dumbledore saw him was twenty years ago. Maybe he’s gone all soft with all the weird stuff he’s been doing. And he left without telling me anything about this prophecy that my mum is supposed to have given. If he does show up again, I’m going to find out what it was all about before he manages to find Snape and get himself killed.”

“Yes, it would be very interesting to find out about your mother’s prophecy — not that I have much faith in that sort of thing,” said Hermione. “Harry, I really think you ought to give him a fair chance. Perhaps you’re biased against him because he was your mother’s boyfriend. You’re acting a bit like a disapproving older brother,” she said with a smirk, looking pointedly at Ron. 


	3. Class Reunion at Spinners End

_**Chapter 3 ~ Class Reunion at Spinner’s End** _

Severus Snape was sitting comfortably in an old armchair, absorbed in an ancient leather-covered book. A number of similar dusty tomes lay piled haphazardly on the rickety old table; some had scraps of parchment marking places of interest.

“Researching a new potion, Severus?” Snape instinctively went for his wand but found he was unable to move. It felt like an Impediment Jinx, except he was able to move his head; and he did not need to move it far to find the source of the unexpected voice. Sitting casually on the threadbare sofa opposite, was a stranger dressed in weird eastern-looking clothes.

“How the hell did you Apparate past my wards?” demanded Snape. “Who are you, and what do you mean by intruding uninvited upon my privacy?”

“Come, come, Severus, is that a polite way to greet a long lost school friend?” asked the stranger, smiling innocently.

“I had no friends at school,” spat Snape, desperately trying to place the stranger. There was something familiar about him. After a few moments, he said, “You were in my year at Hogwarts, I think.”

“Very good, Severus; we were not exactly friends, but we did tolerate each other. Although, as I recall, you did have one friend … one very good friend … what happened to her?”

Snape’s face turned a pallid white. He did not want to think about Miranda. He had trained his mind not to go there. The stranger was staring hypnotically into his eyes, and he found himself unable to turn away. Snape stared back at him disbelievingly, his mind completely open to the stranger — except it was not a stranger. He knew exactly who was plundering his mind; it was Jason Trolove, whom he had not seen for twenty years, since their seventh year at Hogwarts. How had he so effortlessly bypassed the considerable and elaborate defences he had constructed to thwart such intrusions? Even Voldemort, considered the greatest living Legilimens, was unable to penetrate his defences. Worse still, he had no idea what memories Trolove was trawling through, what secrets he was unearthing. After several minutes, he was able to turn his head away and avert his gaze, although the rest of his body remained immobilised. Presumably the intrusion was over.

“Where have you been since Hogwarts, Trolove?” he asked in a flat, controlled voice, not wishing to acknowledge the humiliating mental invasion.

“Oh, here and there, Severus. I’ve been pursuing some of the ideas I used to speculate about in our school days.”

“Like your _Unified Theory_ about _Magic, the Universe, and Everything_?” sniped Snape derisively.

“Something like that, Severus. From the way I bypassed your secret-keeper, industrial-strength wards, and sophisticated anti-intrusion devices, then disabled you and learned everything I wanted to know from your own mind, would you say I’ve been wasting my time?”

Snape grunted and then added evenly, “It would have been more polite to ask. What exactly did you wish to know?”

“You’re as cunning as ever, Severus; damage assessment time, is it? Trying to find out what I’ve learned? Considering the company you keep these days, and the possibility that anything I tell you could be involuntarily given up to others, you will appreciate it if I am a little circumspect about what I say — even though we _are_ on the same side — which, of course, was the first thing I wanted to know.”

Snape fixed Jason with an inscrutable glare.

“Come on, Severus, I’ve been inside your head. I’ve seen Dumbledore’s brilliant plan: Knowing he’d sustained a mortal injury to his wand hand, and didn’t have long to live, he decided to use his death to lay Voldemort’s lingering doubts about your loyalty to rest. Not only did you obtain Voldemort’s total trust, but you were forced to flee Hogwarts, giving you the opportunity to rejoin him and to get close enough to learn what Dumbledore had been unable to discover for himself.”

Snape sighed. There was clearly no point remaining silent any longer, Trolove had taken the crown jewels. He shuddered to think of his fate if Trolove was not really on his side, as he claimed. “I don’t suppose you are going to tell me how you managed to invade my mind,” hissed Snape resentfully.

“Not a chance. The less you know about me the better. So, anyway, Dumbledore figured the only way of finding the remaining Horcruxes was from the only person who knows where they are hidden — Voldemort himself. Any luck yet with creating the potion to overcome Voldemort’s legendary Occlumency skills and to peruse his mind unnoticed?”

Snape remained silent, glaring at Jason. “Come on, Severus. I was trying to be polite and give you the chance to cooperate. Do you really want me to get the answer myself?”

“No! To both questions,” spat Snape. “Would you like me to give you a personal introduction the Dark Lord? Or better still, Polyjuice you to look like me? Perhaps you think with your considerable skills you would be better able than I to obtain the crucial information? But, I must warn you, Trolove, he would kill you on the spot — your intrusion was _very_ obvious.”

“It was meant be,” replied Jason. “I wanted you to know what I was doing so we could discuss my … findings. But it can be done without trace, even without eye-contact. If you don’t have any luck with the potion, you might consider letting me have a try,” he said.

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Snape contemptuously. “And what else were you rummaging for in my mind, Trolove?”

“I already knew why you became a Death Eater — I believe James Potter deserves the dubious credit. But I was curious to know why you changed sides and joined Dumbledore.”

“And have you satisfied your voyeuristic curiosity?” asked Snape coldly, turning pale.

“Yes, Severus, I have, and well … I’m sorry.”

Snape remained silent, his face still pale as he struggled to control his emotions. There was an awkward silence.

“I better go,” said Jason suddenly. “Pettigrew is approaching. I’ll drop by some other time. Take care, Severus.”

With that he was gone, and Snape found himself able to move. Dumbledore had mentioned just before his death that someone would come to help Potter. Clearly, he was referring to Trolove. He could not help but be impressed at Trolove’s powers; he certainly had not wasted his time since Hogwarts. But he would need more than magical powers to keep James Potter’s arrogant brat under control; personally, he would rather deal with the Dark Lord, any day.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry was sitting in the lounge after dinner, a week after arriving at the Burrow. Hermione had her head buried in a book, and Ginny, who had just beaten him and Ron rather spectacularly at Gobstones, was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat.

Harry let out an enormous yawn; he was suddenly feeling really tired. “That’s it for me,” he said, getting to his feet, “I think I need an early night.” He climbed the stairs to his room on autopilot, but as soon as he entered, he was suddenly wide awake. There, lounging comfortably in the battered old armchair in the corner was Jason. He was again wearing weird, loose-fitting clothes. Tonight they were a strange assortment of bright colours, which Harry thought made him look like a clown.

“How did you get past the wards and all the other protections?” asked Harry.

Jason just grinned. “I hope you’re not still tired?”

“Did you do that … make me feel tired, so I’d come up here?”

Jason said nothing; he just continued grinning in that infuriating manner.

“Um … would it be alright, if —”

“Yeah, sure, it’s great idea; I was going to suggest it myself,” said Jason before Harry could finish. “Your friends will be on their way up soon. I expect they will be feeling tired, too. Why don’t you go intercept them.” 

When Harry returned with Ron and Hermione, his bed had been transformed into a large, comfortable couch.

Jason got to his feet. “Hermione Granger, we meet again,” he said mysteriously as he shook her hand.

“What?” asked Hermione. She was quite certain that she had never seen him before in her life.

“And you must be Ron Weasley,” he said taking Ron’s hand, ignoring Hermione’s confusion. “Obviously, Harry is going to pass on everything I say to the pair of you, so you might as well hear it first-hand. Take a seat,” he said, waving towards the large couch. Ron turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow, cocking his head towards Jason. He was obviously as unimpressed with him and his weird foreign getup as Harry.

“Have we met before?” asked Hermione, puzzled.

“You’ll find out,” said Jason, smiling cryptically.

Hermione could not make him out. “So, it was you who made us suddenly start yawning and wanting to go to bed, wasn’t it?”

Jason nodded.

“Ginny joked that her mother must have spilled sleeping potion in the dinner tonight, the way we were all nodding off. She was the only one who wasn’t tired.”

“I think Harry would prefer for Ginny not to join us,” replied Jason, giving Harry one of his penetrating looks.

“Yeah … definitely,” exclaimed Harry. Then he quickly asked, “So did you find Snape?” Jason looked fit and healthy, so Harry was guessing the answer was ‘no’.

“Yes,” replied Jason, draping himself over the corner armchair. “We had a nice friendly chat.”

“What? You mean he didn’t try to hex you or curse you?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“He didn’t get the chance. He was immobilised the whole time apart from his head, and I didn’t get close enough to find out if he bites.”

The three students laughed at the image of their dreaded Potions master in such a bind. “I would have loved to have seen the slimy git —” began Ron gleefully.

But he was cut off by Hermione, who elbowed him in the ribs. “Did you learn anything useful?” she asked.

“Indeed I did — several things. Firstly, Dumbledore planned his own death. Snape did not want to go through with it, but Dumbledore insisted. He —”

“I don’t believe it!” interjected Harry angrily. “You’ve been duped by Snape — just like Dumbledore was. How can you believe Snape’s version of what happened? He’s a professional liar — of course he was going to say something like that!”

“But he didn’t say it. I would not believe the word of someone who is presumed to be working for Voldemort.”

“Well, if you used Legilimency, he still fooled you,” said Harry. “It may be easy enough to read my mind, but Snape is one of the best Occlumens around. He told me himself he could fool Voldemort, who’s supposed to be the greatest Legilimens alive. He said he’d been hiding his true allegiance to Dumbledore for years. I reckon he could make you think exactly what he wanted.”

“But, Harry, you’re contradicting yourself,” said Hermione. “If Snape’s been working for Voldemort all along as you claim, then he had nothing to hide from him.”

“True,” said Ron. “But he sure as hell had something to hide from Dumbledore, who is … err … well, who was, probably almost as good a Legilimens as You-Know-Who.”

“Yes, I do know who,” said Jason, “but his name is Voldemort. Would you mind using it? I find all this You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense rather silly. In any case, I did not use Legilimency. I have learnt many things in my travels that are unknown here. I had total access to Severus’ mind and learned everything I needed to know.”

“But what was the point of Dumbledore throwing his life away like that?” demanded Harry, still unconvinced.

“Dumbledore was dying. The injury he sustained to his wand hand, from the Horcrux concealed in the ring, would not heal. The curse that caused it to wither was slowly permeating his whole body; there was no counter-curse or antidote. Knowing he had only a short time to live, he decided to use his death as conclusive proof of Severus’ loyalty to Voldemort — who had always had his suspicions. Furthermore, Severus would be forced to flee Hogwarts, putting him frequently in Voldemort’s presence. 

“Severus told Dumbledore that Draco Malfoy had been ordered to kill him, and he was persuaded by Dumbledore to magically commit himself to do the deed if Draco failed (something Dumbledore confidently expected). He was waiting for Draco to make his move, and although the infiltration of Hogwarts by Death Eaters was unexpected, he pursued his plan with the utmost determination when the opportunity finally presented itself. Why do you think he disabled you with that Freezing Charm, Harry? He had to prevent you from saving him — and ruining everything.”

“But why did Dumbledore want Snape back with You-Know … err, Voldemort? Is Snape supposed to kill him?” asked Ron.

“No, of course not,” said Hermione. “Voldemort can’t be killed yet — well not completely — he would just come back again. He can’t really be killed until the remaining Horcruxes are destroyed — that must have been the whole point of getting Snape close to Voldemort — to find out where he has hidden them. After all, Snape is a very accomplished Legilimens.”

“Spot on,” said Jason. “Yes, that, in a nutshell, was Dumbledore’s plan.”

“I guess it does kind of make sense,” conceded Harry. “Voldemort is the only one who knows where they are. Well, maybe not all of them. Someone stole one — the one concealed in Slytherin’s locket. They stole the locket from the cave and left another one in its place with a message that said the Horcrux would be destroyed. But, what if they weren’t able to destroy it? What if it’s hidden and Voldemort doesn’t know where? Anyway, there are the other three. How is Snape going to get past the defences of such a powerful Occlumens to find out where they are?”

“Severus is trying to create a potion that will both weaken Voldemort’s powers of Occlumency and also prevent him from noticing an intrusion. It would not be difficult for him to include some of it with one of the other potions he regularly brews for Voldemort. I think we can all appreciate that finding and destroying the Horcruxes is the most important task right now. Until it’s done, Voldemort remains immortal.”

“Maybe you should do it,” said Harry. “With your abilities, you would have no trouble extracting the information from Voldemort’s mind. You could Polyjuice yourself to look like one of his Death Eaters.” Harry didn’t say it, but he secretly doubted Jason would have the nerve to go anywhere near Voldemort.

“Indeed, I have offered to do just that, but Severus likes to do things his own way.”

There was silence while they digested the new information about Dumbledore’s death and Snape’s allegiance, which appeared to be to their side, after all. Hermione finally asked, “You told Harry you wanted to find out why Snape changed sides and joined Voldemort, did you?”

Jason sighed. “As I told Harry, it was his father destroying Severus’ relationship with Miranda Malfoy that set him on the road to becoming a Death Eater. Severus felt utterly betrayed by Miranda; he never spoke to her again while we were at school. One of the tasks of Death Eaters was to recruit others to Voldemort’s cause. Being _invited_ to become a Death Eater was not something that could be easily refused. Methods of persuasion included threats against family members, who might be tortured or even killed. 

“Severus was ordered to recruit Miranda Malfoy. She seemed the ideal candidate. She was from a pure-blood family who were all supporters of Voldemort. She was also a very powerful witch with a brilliant academic record at Hogwarts — just the sort of person Voldemort prized. Severus, himself newly recruited, could not refuse the order — not if he wanted to live. So, he gave Miranda the _invitation._ When she refused to join, he pleaded with her. Since all her family were either Death Eaters themselves or committed supporters of Voldemort, they were safe — but she was not. He told her she would be killed if she continued to refuse.

“When it became apparent that he could not convince her to join, Severus implored Miranda to flee or to go into hiding; he even offered to help her, but she stubbornly refused. Finally, Severus received the order to kill her. It was a simple choice: kill or be killed. He put it off as long as he possibly could, but finally he did it. He was immediately overwhelmed with guilt and remorse. He discovered that his feelings for Miranda had not been extinguished by her betrayal at school, as he had believed, but merely repressed, and now they burst forth with a vengeance. He had killed the only person he had ever loved and been loved by. The guilt was unbearable. He knew he could not leave the Death Eaters — the only way out was in a coffin, so he went to Dumbledore and offered his services as a spy.”

Hermione sniffled and wiped away a tear. “Poor man, what a terribly sad story.”

“Well it’s certainly more believable than Snape changing sides because he felt guilty about my parents being killed,” said Harry. “That’s what Dumbledore thought. He said Snape blamed himself because he overheard Trelawney giving her prophecy to him at the Hog’s Head and then repeated it to Voldemort. I knew Snape would never have felt bad about being responsible for my dad’s death. I bet he gloated over it.”

“I very much doubt that, Harry, despite the longstanding enmity between them, and what your father did to destroy his relationship with Miranda. And Severus certainly would have been most upset knowing his actions had led to Lily’s death. Despite her being Muggle-born, Severus came to respect and admire your mother. You could almost have called them friends by sixth year. In any case, Severus could not have known to whom the prophecy referred when he passed it on to Voldemort. It would have taken Voldemort some time to determine that himself. Severus could not possibly have known what the consequences would be.”

Harry grunted; he still blamed Snape for giving Voldemort the prophecy that led to his parents’ deaths, and he could not imagine Snape feeling the least bit guilty about the part he played. He still hated Snape — just like Snape hated him. Then he remembered what he wanted to ask Jason. “What about the prophecy you said my mother gave, the one Dumbledore mentioned in his messages, what was that about?”

“Another sad story,” said Jason with a sigh, looking momentarily a little lost and downcast. “But I suppose you have a right to know. As I told you, your mother and I were best friends from our first day at Hogwarts. At some stage that friendship turned into love, although we didn’t realise it until fourth year. Maybe Lily realised it sooner; girls are a bit more perceptive about these things. We were inseparable, and the bond between us grew stronger each year. It seemed inconceivable that we would ever part.

“Then, in our sixth year, Lily started having visions. She’d never had much faith in divination, despite sometimes experiencing premonitions that turned out to be accurate, or instinctively knowing something, like Remus being a werewolf. She’d always dismissed these things as coincidence or intuition, but now she began to suspect that she might have the Sight.

“At first the visions were vague and indistinct, but they became clearer over time, and eventually they coalesced into two quite different and contradictory portents of the future. In one, the wizarding world was overcome by darkness and evil. She called it the _Future of Darkness_. But in the other, the forces of darkness were forestalled for many years, and there seemed a real possibility they might finally be defeated. She called it the _Future of Hope._ Lily was not sure what to make of the visions and did not attach too much importance to them at first. Even if they were true, there was nothing she could do to determine which one would eventuate.

“But, at the start of our seventh year, the nature of the visions changed. They became more clearly defined and detailed. Previously, the future worlds she saw were vague and impersonal; there were no identifiable individuals, no one she knew or recognised. But now, there were people she knew, including herself in both visions. This greatly disturbed her, and she desperately wanted them to stop, but they wouldn’t. For months she refused to talk to me about the people in her visions. It was the first time she had ever been unable to confide in me. It was a very difficult time for Lily. Finally, she could bear it no longer and told me everything.

“The _Future of Darkness_ , she said, was just a few years after we finished school. Voldemort triumphed and everyone who opposed him was brutally murdered. In the terrible nightmare world that followed, Voldemort’s Death Eaters exterminated all the Squibs and Muggle-born witches and wizards. Lily said she could see us in that future world. We were together, and we perished along with all the other Muggle-borns in the _Great Purification_.

“The _Future of Hope_ seemed to Lily to be quite a bit further in the future. Although she could not see what preceded it, she thought there must have been some kind of struggle in which Voldemort and his Death Eaters were somehow contained. Eventually, a young wizard arose who had the power to destroy Voldemort. That wizard was her son … and his father was … James Potter.”

The three students gasped. Harry felt a chill run down his spine. They remained silent, waiting for Jason to continue.

“Lily thought that if we stayed together, the _Future of Darkness_ would come to pass; whereas, if she married James Potter, the _Future of Hope_ would prevail. She thought her actions — her choice — could determine the future. I was not convinced that either of the two competing futures would necessarily eventuate — or that Lily’s choice was the key determinant. And even if she was right, even if she married James and ushered in the _Future of Hope_ , there was no guarantee their son would defeat Voldemort — she never saw how it ended. I never mentioned my doubts to Lily; I was convinced she had the Sight, and I had to respect her decision — whatever it might be. But Lily was unable to decide what to do. Eventually, I suggested she go to Professor Dumbledore and seek his advice.

“Dumbledore treated Lily’s visions seriously. But he also cautioned that visions were not infallible and their meanings were not always what they appeared to be. He thought there was a real possibility that Lily’s choice would determine the future, but he said there was no way of knowing for sure. Ultimately it was up to Lily; she would have to decide whether to act on her visions or not.”

“What a terrible choice to have to make,” said Hermione. “To have to choose between what you love and want on the one hand, and what might be best for everyone on the other — and never knowing whether your choice would ultimately matter or not. It must have been incredibly distressing for her.”

“It nearly tore her apart,” said Jason, sighing. “She begged Professor Dumbledore to decide, or at least tell her what he would do in her place. But he steadfastly refused. Then, there was a new development. Lily saw something further in the _Future of Hope_ vision. It was me. I had come to guide her son, to help him destroy Voldemort. She was persuaded that if the _Future of Hope_ came to pass, and I helped her son, he would defeat Voldemort and avert a terrible catastrophe in which thousands would perish.”

Jason’s voice had become thick with emotion; a tear ran down his cheek. Hermione was sobbing into her handkerchief. “So that finally made her decide?” asked Hermione softly, her voice muffled.

Jason took several deep breaths and his voice became calm and clear. “No, Lily still hesitated. She hesitated because she did not completely trust her visions; she did not fully believe in her own powers as a Seer. She wanted proof that the _Future of Hope_ would really happen if she made the terrible choice which lay before her.”

“But how could it be proven?” asked Hermione.

“It _was_ proven. I am sorry, but I cannot explain. Lily got her proof that the _Future of Hope_ would really happen if she left me for James. I never blamed her for her choice at the time; and now, with twenty-twenty hindsight, it is absolutely clear that she made the correct decision. But I could not remain at Hogwarts. I knew she would soon be with James. He had made it obvious for years that he fancied her. I couldn’t bear to see them together, and I knew it would be just as hard for Lily to keep seeing me in class and around school. It was best for both of us if I left. So I returned to my parents’ place in Coventry. Dumbledore was very supportive. He arranged for my professors to owl me lecture notes and mark my assignments for the few months of school that remained. I returned to Hogwarts for the NEWT examinations. Dumbledore prepared a disused classroom where I slept, ate, and sat my exams. I never saw Lily or any other student. Immediately after the exams, I left England. I couldn’t bear to be a part of the same wizarding community as Lily … and James. It wasn’t hatred; it was love. But I did not want to see them. I did not want to think about her.”

“But, you must have known that war was coming,” said Harry critically, “especially after my mother’s visions. How come you didn’t stay and fight Voldemort — like my parents did? Like Sirius and Lupin and all the others who joined the Order of the Phoenix?”

“I am not proud that I left, Harry. But it was not fear of Voldemort that drove me away. I could not have been in the Order of the Phoenix together with your parents. I hope none of you ever experience such overwhelming emotions. They overcame all reason, all other considerations, and moral imperatives. I had to leave.” Then giving Harry a penetrating look, he added, “What you are experiencing at the moment is _nothing_ in comparison, and I would not wish it on you.”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably as Ron looked at him uncomprehendingly and Hermione, sympathetically. She knew he was referring to Harry’s struggle to part with Ginny.

Jason concluded, “So I left, and occupied myself for the next twenty years, trying to find answers to the question which had been rattling around in my head since I first came to Hogwarts. But I’ll leave that for another time.” He smiled a sad smile and disappeared in the same moment that the couch reverted to a bed, leaving them sprawled awkwardly across it. Hermione jumped up, and after checking that the chair where Jason had been sitting was really empty, she sat down, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. Harry and Ron sat up on the edge of the bed. 

It was Ron who spoke first. “You know, Harry, he may have been a Ravenclaw, but I think he might turn out to be quite a powerful wizard. Anyone who could do that to Snape deserves some credit.”

“I can see why your mother was in love with him,” said Hermione, in a slightly dreamy voice. “He is rather attractive … and those blue eyes ….”

“I’ve got blue eyes, too,” mumbled Ron peevishly. Then realising the obvious inference, he tried to change the subject. “Anyway, he’s old enough to —”

“Date Rosmerta?” asked Hermione archly.

Ron, who could never keep his eyes off the shapely barmaid when he was at the Three Broomsticks turned red, but kept silent — he definitely did not want to go there.

Harry had been very quiet since Jason left. Hermione looked at him with concern; he looked upset and confused. She suspected her comment about his mother being in love with Jason had not helped. “Are you upset about your mother and Jason?” she asked, determined to get him to talk about it.

Harry remained silent.

“Well, of course he is —” began Ron, but he was silenced by a withering glare from Hermione.

“Just because she was in love with Jason when she was younger, doesn’t mean that she didn’t like your dad … or eventually come to love him,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, well, how do you think my dad would have felt, knowing my mum was only with him because of some vision, because she was trying to save the world? Not very nice for him, was it? And if she told him about the vision, then he would have had to stay with her, even if he didn’t want to.” The image of his mother and father, happily in love with each other, that he had carried since he was eleven lay in tatters.

“But she wouldn’t have told him,” said Hermione.

“How do you know?” asked Ron.

“Jason told Harry that only his mother, he, and Dumbledore knew about the visions.”

“Yeah, but he left Hogwarts and the country,” said Harry, “he doesn’t know what happened afterwards.”

“True,” said Hermione, “but I’m sure she wouldn’t have told your father. Firstly, it would have been really unkind. Secondly, if he knew why she had split up with Jason and become his girlfriend, he might not have wanted her, being so proud — and she was determined to fulfil the vision.”

“It’s still not very nice for my dad,” said Harry, aggrieved.

“Your mother probably came to really love your father,” said Hermione. “After all, just about every other girl in school had a crush on him. He looked just like you, so he must have been very good-looking,” she added with a mischievous grin.

Ron snorted and was about to say something, but he thought better of it and kept his silence.

“Yeah, you might be right,” said Harry. “Everyone who knew them says how happy they were together, so maybe it did happen that way. Still, I don’t like hearing Jason talking about my mum and all.”

“Actually, I thought he was being very careful not to say too much about their feelings,” said Hermione. “He just stuck to the facts. What I want to know is why he acted as if he knew me when I came into the room; and I really want to know what he was researching for twenty years. It sounds fascinating.” 

“The only thing I want to know,” said Harry, “is how he’s going to help me defeat Voldemort.” 


	4. Flirt

_**Chapter 4 ~ Flirt** _

The Order of the Phoenix decided that Harry should get his Apparation license as soon as possible, now that he was seventeen. Apparation could be a very useful means of escape in a difficult situation. Although he was already able to Apparate, it would be risky to do it without a license given the current state of affairs at the Ministry of Magic. Two years ago, they tried to convict him for using a Patronus Charm, even though it was in self-defence. They would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Professor Dumbledore. Harry had been too young to do the test at the end of the last school year. Hermione had passed, but Ron failed by a hair’s breath — or more precisely, an elbow — so he would be doing the test with Harry.

Bill came to the Burrow the morning of the test to help them brush up on their Apparation skills. He was fully recovered from the horrific injuries sustained at the hands of Fenrir Greyback, although his once-handsome face was now permanently disfigured. Bill carried his scars rather well, Harry thought. His face was no longer handsome, but he still looked cool. The scars gave him a dashing, swashbuckling air — like a pirate who had seen a bit too much action. 

Bill accompanied them to the Ministry of Magic for the Apparation test in the afternoon. Mr Weasley temporarily reconnected the Burrow to the Floo network to allow them to Floo to the Ministry. They emerged from one of the gilded fireplaces set into the wall of the Atrium and proceeded to the security desk. A short, bearded wizard asked them to step forward one at a time. He passed a long golden rod up and down their fronts and backs. Then he placed their wands on a strange brass instrument that vibrated and spewed out narrow strips of parchment, which he impaled on a small brass spike before handing the wands back.

Harry and Ron followed Bill through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where the lifts were located. The golden grille of a lift slid back, and they stepped in along with several witches and wizards who were too busy whispering furtively to each other to pay them any attention. People seemed fearful of talking openly; you could almost sense the siege mentality, thought Harry. Any Ministry employee caught criticising Fudge and his policies, would be out of a job before you could say: _Yes, Minister_. A female voice announced their arrival at Level Seven and the departmental offices to be found there; Bill shook his head. The doors shut and the lift continued upwards. The female voice announced, “Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre.”

“That’s us,” said Bill. They followed him down a long wood-panelled corridor, lined with doors, until they came to one bearing the sign _Apparation Test Centre_. Bill led them into an enormous room with numbered circles scattered over the floor. Seated at a small desk, just inside the door, was Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry Apparation Instructor, who they remembered from their Apparation lessons at Hogwarts. 

“Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley,” he read from a piece of parchment, rising from his chair to explain the test, which involved Apparating between the circles in numerical order. They completed the course without difficulty … or leaving bits of themselves behind. As Wilkie Twycross was handing Ron and Harry their Apparation licences, the door opened and Percy Weasley strode into the room, causing Bill and Ron to tense visibly.

“Twycross, you can leave us now,” he said self-importantly. “I have official business with these people.”

“Certainly, Deputy Minister, at once,” mumbled the diminutive wizard, bowing subserviently and shuffling deferentially from the room. Percy puffed himself up, smiling smugly at Twycross’ subservience and hoping it had not passed unnoticed by his brothers and Potter. 

“We don’t have any business with you,” blurted out Ron aggressively. “So you can just piss off, you great git!”

Ignoring Ron completely, as if he were not there, Percy turned to Harry. “Congratulations, Harry, on getting your Apparation licence. Minister Fudge was delighted to learn of your visit to the Ministry this afternoon, and he wishes to take the opportunity to have a friendly little chat.”

“No thanks!” spat Harry.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Percy, as if he had not heard correctly.

“I don’t want to talk to the slimy, yellow-bellied coward!”

Percy’s face reddened. “Now, see here, Potter, you cannot talk about the Minister of Magic like that.”

“Is there a law against it?” demanded Ron.

Percy again ignored Ron and said sternly to Harry, “The Minister is expecting you in his office, and I am here to accompany you. Refusal is not an option, Potter. Do I make myself clear?”

Bill, who had remained silent, stepped up to Percy so that they were standing toe-to-toe. “I don’t believe there is a law obliging anyone to talk to that pathetic, self-serving idiot who is handing the wizarding world to Voldemort on a platter just so he can be Minister of Magic and line his pockets with gold.”

Percy was speechless; his face became even redder as he stepped back from Bill’s intimidating presence. Ron could easily be ignored. Like the twins, he had always been just a naughty little brother who was nothing more than a nuisance. But Bill was the big brother he had always looked up to. Bill had been a prefect and then Head Boy at Hogwarts; and his academic record had been brilliant. He was the role model Percy had strived hard to emulate. Unable to look Bill in the eye, Percy glared at Harry instead. 

“Potter, clearly you do not understand how things work in the real world. Good governance and order depend upon everyone accepting the decisions of those who have been placed in a position of trust, to do what is best for the whole community. You cannot just do what you want because you disagree with some decision or other.”

Harry was having trouble containing himself as Percy trotted out the Ministry propaganda. “Percy, do you really believe Voldemort and his Death Eaters are going to suddenly start behaving themselves like good little boys and girls just because that fool Fudge is turning a blind eye to their activities? Do you honestly believe that?”

“It is not a matter of what you, or I, or anyone, believes; it is a matter of abiding by the decisions of those in authority —”

“Even when they are utter rubbish?” demanded Ron.

Ignoring Ron again, Percy continued to dish up the party line. “Minister Fudge firmly believes that the correct policy is compromise and détente. He is engaging in meaningful dialogue with You-Know-Who’s representatives, encouraging them to curb some of their … err, more antisocial activities. The Minister is resolute in his opinion that if they are not provoked by the Ministry or vigilantes gangs, like the Order of the Phoenix, they will have no reason to cause trouble.”

“Well, how come they are attacking Muggle-borns and Squibs, along with everyone who refuses to join them?” countered Harry angrily. “Or does Fudge classify being Muggle-born or a Squib, or not wanting to become a Death Eater, a provocation? Fudge is giving Voldemort open season on recruiting — a golden opportunity to build up his forces until he’s strong enough to take over —” 

“There is no evidence that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is trying to take over anything. It’s just an unsubstantiated —”

“Of course there is,” interrupted Bill. “The Death Eaters are recruiting flat out. It’s obvious to everyone they’re preparing for war — Everyone except Fudge, that is.”

“That’s just paranoid delusions and an excuse to cause trouble and unnecessary panic. Where is your evidence? There’s been nothing in the Wizarding press about —”

“Oh, come off it, Percy,” said Bill scathingly. “The wizarding media have been heavily censored since Fudge took over. Scrimgeour’s murder was reported in the Daily Prophet as having been carried out by _wizards and/or witches unknown_ without even a mention of the Dark Mark hovering over the Ministry. Anyway, aren’t you the one in charge of censorship these days?”

“We don’t call it … err, that,” said Percy defensively. “It is a key objective of the Minister to keep the population calm. It is not in the public interest to allow the publication of rumours and unsubstantiated allegations, or unauthorised accounts that might cause fear and panic or provoke You-Know-Who and his supporters.”

“Pretending it’s not happening won’t work!” exclaimed Harry. “Take a good look at what happened the last time Voldemort became powerful. Why will he behave any differently this time? And how exactly was I provoking him when he tried to kill me as a baby? How about all his other attempts to get rid of me? Does that idiot Fudge consider it a provocation that I won’t just lay down and let Voldemort murder me?”

“Enough of this insubordination,” spluttered Percy. “It’s all Dumbledore’s fault; he gave you far too much licence, Potter. You have been allowed to act on your own and encouraged to pursue your own selfish interests for too long. You need to learn to obey those in authority —” 

“Don’t lecture Harry about selfish interests,” said Bill harshly. “You’re just as bad as Fudge. All you care about is Percy Weasley, and climbing as far up the Ministry dung heap as you can. You have no principles and no morality. You will do and say — and apparently believe — anything that advances your precious career — even if it means throwing your own father out of his job. I am ashamed to call you my brother. You are an utter disgrace to the whole family.”

Percy’s face was glowing red by now. He was unable to meet Bill’s fierce gaze. Straightening himself in an attempt to look dignified, he turned on Harry. “I’ve had quite enough of your insubordination and cheek, Potter. I am the Deputy Minister of Magic. I insist upon being treated with the respect my position demands! I refuse to discuss Ministry policies with those who are incapable of understanding the subtleties and complexities of politics. For the final time, Potter, I demand you come with me to the Minister of Magic!”

“So Fudge can hand him over to Voldemort as another _good will_ _gesture_ … and maybe a big bag of gold?” demanded Ron.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Percy, stepping slowly backwards towards the desk. “The Minister just wants to talk with Potter, and I strongly advise you against making libellous accusations impugning the integrity of the Minister of Magic. Don’t expect any special dispensation or protection in virtue of your relationship to an important official, such as myself. I will personally see that you are prosecuted.”

“None of us expect anything from you!” spat Ron venomously. “You’re not fit to call yourself a Weasley! You’ve sold your soul to Voldemort, just like that fool Fudge; and if you’re not getting your cut of the gold, then you’re an even bigger fool than him!”

“How dare you?” exclaimed Percy, who was now standing against the desk. His right hand suddenly shot out towards a button on the corner of the desk and had almost reached it when Bill whipped out his wand and said, “Petrificus Totalus”. Percy fell rigidly against the desk before toppling over and hitting the floor with aloud thud, lying face up, staring at them furiously, unable to speak.

“Nice try, Percy, but it was bit bloody obvious that you were attempting to call in the Aurors. Come on chaps,” said Bill, “I think it’s time to leave this layabout and find the Apparation Zone — you’re licensed now.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

They arrived outside the gate of the Burrow, and after using the door-knocking charm, waited for Mrs Weasley to come and let them through the wards. 

“Don’t mention anything about our run-in with Percy in front of Mum; she’s still really upset about the git,” whispered Bill as his mother approached. “Hi, Mum. Well, as you can see, they both passed.”

“Wonderful, boys, congratulations,” said Mrs Weasley, beaming at Harry and Ron. Then turning to her eldest son, she said, “Can you come in for a few minutes, Bill, dear, I need to talk to you about the wedding plans.”

Ron and Harry headed towards the house. When they entered the lounge, they found Ginny and Hermione, wearing even bigger grins than themselves. 

“Well, we passed,” said Ron. “OK, Hermione, out with it, what the hell are you looking so bloody pleased with yourself about?”

“Ronald Weasley, kindly show more respect when addressing the Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” said Ginny in an excellent imitation of Professor McGonagall.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” said Harry with a grin, giving her a hug. “But pardon me if I don’t look surprised — I mean, was there ever any doubt since first year?”

“Err, yeah,” said Ron, hesitating for a moment before shaking her hand awkwardly. “Well, like Harry said, it was pretty bloody obvious you were going to get it; I mean no-one else stood a chance. So the Hogwarts letters have come: Where’s mine?” he asked eagerly.

“On the table,” said Hermione. “Yours, too, Harry. We have to give our book lists to Mrs Weasley and write down everything we need from Diagon Alley. She says it’s too risky for us to go there ourselves; Bill will get all our stuff for us.” Harry made no move towards the table. He wasn’t interested in his Hogwarts letter, but Ron definitely was. 

“Don’t be too disappointed, Ron,” Hermione said to him anxiously. “McGonagall couldn’t choose both Head Boy and Head Girl from the same house.”

“That’s not true Hermione,” said Harry without thinking. “My mum and dad were Head Boy and the Head Girl together, and they were both Gryffindors. So Ron could be Head Boy.” 

Hermione and Ginny both raised their eyebrows at him and shook their heads in exasperation. Harry realised they already knew that Ron hadn’t got it; the Head Boy’s name must have been in Hermione’s letter.

Ron meanwhile had opened his letter and shook out the envelope. There was no Head Boy badge inside. “So who got it?” he asked Hermione sourly.

“Anthony Goldstein,” she replied. “He was obviously going to get it. I mean with Malfoy gone — not that he had a chance — it was either him or Ernie McMillan —”

“Or me!” exclaimed Ron angrily.

Hermione sighed. “Ron, be honest, you never even took your prefect duties seriously. And sometimes you abused your position, bundling little first-years out of your way. You’re supposed to act like a caring older brother, not treat them like a bunch of bothersome little brats.”

“But they are,” retorted Ron moodily, “and anyway that’s exactly how my older brothers treated me!”

Ginny snorted.

“Come on, Ron,” said Harry. “You would have hated being Head Boy — always having to be on your best behaviour and setting an example, it would be no fun at all. I reckon Fred and George had the right idea. You know I was disappointed at first when Dumbledore didn’t make me a prefect in fifth year, but afterwards I was really glad.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Ron. “It probably would be pretty bloody awful. I just don’t know how Goldstein got it, that’s all,” he said glaring at Hermione as if it were her fault. “He’s just another one of those bloody useless Ravenclaws.”

“Anyway, Ron,” said Harry, “you’re bound to be the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, which is way better. You’re the obvious choice. You know way more about strategy than anyone else on the team.

“You’re not resigning the captaincy, are you, Harry?” asked Ginny.

Harry looked around to make sure Mr and Mrs Weasley were not around. He had not told Ginny that he was not planning on returning to Hogwarts. They had spent a lot of time together since he arrived at the Burrow, but they never talked about the future. There was almost an unspoken agreement between them not to go there. They just enjoyed being together in the moment and acted as if their conversation at Dumbledore’s funeral, when Harry had said they couldn’t stay together, had never happened. 

“Ginny, I’m not going back to Hogwarts, I have more important things to do,” he said softly.

“Harry, we know what you have to do,” said Hermione choosing her words carefully. She knew Harry had chosen not to confide in Ginny about the Horcruxes or Jason, hoping to protect her. “But you have to do it intelligently, when the time is right. If you act too soon, before you are ready, you won’t succeed. Please Harry, use your brains and listen to … to others.”

Harry was angry. He felt like he needed to do something — and now! But he had no idea what. He had a vague plan about visiting Godric’s Hollow; but then what? Everyone was trying to tell him what to do: Hermione, McGonagall, Jason … even Dumbledore, from the grave, telling him to trust Jason. Then there was Ginny. She didn’t tell him what to do, but she made him feel like all he wanted was to be with her and forget about everything else … the Horcruxes, Voldemort, his destiny … the whole lot. It was all too complicated and confusing.

“Your mother seems to be getting a bit frantic about the wedding,” said Hermione to Ginny, changing the subject.

“It’s already been postponed once because of security concerns,” said Ginny, “and Mum is getting really anxious that nothing goes wrong again.”

“When will the date be announced? Why is there so much secrecy about it?” asked Harry.

“Our whole family — well, except for that git Percy, of course — are known supporters of the Order of the Phoenix,” said Ron. “Mum and Dad are worried about a Death Eater attack. Some of the Burrow’s protections will need to be relaxed to let the wedding guests in, and there’s the possibility of impostors using Polyjuice Potion.”

“So no one will know the actual date of the wedding until the day itself,” continued Ginny, “but I’m guessing it will have to be in the next week before we return to Hogwarts. Only family and a few trusted friends are being invited, and no one will be allowed to bring partners.”

“Too bad for you, Hermione,” quipped Ron. “You won’t be able to invite Big Head Boy Goldstein.”

Hermione rounded on Ron angrily. “That’s most unfortunate for me, because I’m sure there won’t be anyone else present whose company I am likely to enjoy half as much! When are you going to grow up, Ron?”

Ginny was shaking her head and giving Hermione a sympathetic look.

“What did I say?” Ron asked Harry, bewildered. But Harry was not going to get involved. Secretly he agreed with Hermione: Ron really needed to grow up — and fast.

“Is Charlie coming?” asked Harry, before Hermione could lay into Ron.

“No, unfortunately,” said Ginny wistfully. She was very fond of Charlie. “It would be too difficult. He’s very busy right now with his dragons and would only be able to get away for the wedding day itself; and with all the Ministry red tape involved in getting an international Apparation permit, and the Ministry lousy with spies, the wedding date would soon be known to the Death Eaters.”

“Are Fleur’s family coming?” asked Harry.

“Just Flirt’s mum and dad and her little sister Gabrielle,” replied Ginny.

“Flirt?” asked Harry, snorting.

“Well, since Mum made up with her, she’s forbidden me to call her _Phlem_. And anyway, _Flirt_ suits her better.”

“It suits her brilliantly,” said Hermione, laughing.

“I though you were getting on better with her?” said Harry.

“Oh, I am,” answered Ginny, but she’s still a terrible _Flirt_.

“I don’t think she can help it,” said Hermione. “It comes with having Veela blood. No, it’s not her I blame,” said Hermione glaring at Ron, who turned to jelly whenever Fleur came anywhere near him.

“Well, wizards can’t help it either,” snapped Ron.

“I don’t notice Harry acting like a drooling, pubescent school boy every time Fleur comes near him,” retorted Hermione.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s because his attentions are otherwise engaged,” said Ron, nodding towards Ginny.

“Ronald Weasley, you are the most insensitive prat, I’ve ever met!” cried Hermione, storming from the room.

“What did I say now?” asked Ron, totally puzzled.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” said Ginny in exasperation. “Perhaps Hermione thought that if your attentions were otherwise engaged — even a little — you might not be so susceptible to Flirt’s charms?”

Ron sat silently looking perplexed while Harry and Ginny shook their heads, looking at each other despairingly.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Three days before they were due to return to Hogwarts, Mrs Weasley awoke them early with the announcement that today was to be Bill and Fleur’s wedding day. After a quick breakfast, they set about giving the garden a good de-gnoming. While they were busy catching and hurling the nasty little creatures as far away as they could, Remus Lupin arrived to create the special circular platform, near the pond, where the ceremony would take place. Rising a hundred feet from its centre was an enormous pole from which hundreds of ribbons cascaded down in a kaleidoscope of colour to the perimeter of the platform. They shimmered in the sunshine as they twirled about gently in the breeze. It was a stunning sight. Around it, Lupin conjured a polished wooden dance floor surrounded by beautifully decorated tables.

Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody were the first to appear. They positioned themselves with Lupin at the garden gate when the guests began to arrive. Everyone had to answer questions to prove they were, indeed, who they claimed to be. This created quite a bottleneck because Mad-Eye, paranoid as ever, was suspicious of everyone and very hard to satisfy. Fleur’s parents and sister, Gabrielle, had to wait outside for twenty minutes, their wands confiscated, until the bride arrived because no one else knew them well enough to think of questions to verify their identity. Madam Delacour looked most put out as she strode up and down the lane with her chin raised high in an offended pose, muttering “les Anglais” and “sacre bleu” angrily under her breath, while her husband tried in vain to calm her.

When Fleur finally arrived, and her parents and sister were able to prove their bona fides and gain admission, Madam Delacour strode regally through the gate and snatched her wand from Mad-Eye, subjecting him to a torrent of abuse in French. 

Mr Weasley apologised profusely to Madam Delacour, who was tall, stately, and extremely beautiful. She had the same long silvery-blonde hair and blue eyes as Fleur. It took Mr Weasley several minutes to placate her, with a steady stream of contrite murmurings of: ‘so terribly sorry’, ‘absolutely no offence intended’, ‘most unfortunate’, ‘greatest regret’, ‘beastly security requirements’ and so on, until finally she regained her elegant composure. However, with the prolonged close contact, Mr Weasley had fallen under her Veela spell. Even after being dragged unceremoniously away by his angry wife, he had the greatest difficulty turning his eyes in any direction but hers. He appeared to find her every bit as fascinating as such arcane Muggle mysteries as batteries, eckeltricity, and felly-tones. 

Mrs Weasley kept casting dangerous looks in her husband’s direction, but he seemed oblivious to everything but the glamorous French lady. Monsieur Delacour, on the other hand, appeared to be quite blasé about Mr Weasley’s attentions to his wife; he was obviously used to the effect her Veela blood had upon other men. He was a very debonair-looking gentleman with immaculately groomed, dark, wavy hair and a luxuriant moustache that curled up rakishly at the ends. He made a point of introducing himself to all the ladies present in a most charming and flattering manner. Mrs Weasley blushed when he kissed her on both cheeks, complimenting her handsomely on the extraordinary beauty of her daughter, Ginny, who was looking ravishing in her bridesmaid’s gown. 

“I am certain she is inheriting her exquisite beauty from her beautiful mama,” he said, kissing Mrs Weasley’s hand and making her blush again. 

Monsieur Delacour was not the only one to notice how beautiful the youngest Weasley was looking. Harry seemed to be in a trance as he stared at her wistfully. One might have thought Ginny was the one with the Veela blood. With his attention fixed on Ginny, Harry didn’t pay much attention to the ceremony, and it was over before he realised it. The twins set up a Wizarding sound system, which was soon blaring out dance music, and Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor for a solo circuit before other couples joined them.

Harry danced with Ginny whenever he got the chance, but she was extremely popular. Monsieur Delacour asked her to dance twice in very gallant fashion, which for some reason irritated Harry. She also danced with her brothers and her father. Harry could tell that Mr Weasley was dying to dance with Madam Delacour, but he was far too timid and shy to ask. _Like father, like son_ , thought Harry, because Ron spent the whole time — when he wasn’t eating — watching Hermione. He glared at Fred and George whenever they danced with her, which was often — especially after they discovered how much it annoyed their younger brother. Ron even glared at Monsieur Delacour when he danced with Hermione.

“Why don’t you just ask her to dance?” said Harry, who had wandered over to where Ron was strategically stationed at a large table covered with food, while Ginny was dancing with Bill.

“What? Dance with who?” asked Ron, feigning innocence.

“You-Know-Who,” said Harry with a grin.

“He definitely did not get an invite,” quipped Ron, pretending not to understand what Harry was talking about. “Anyway, I don’t feel like dancing. I don’t know what people see in it, myself.”

“You do not like ze dance?” said a throaty voice from behind Ron, who turned to find himself face-to-face with the bride. It was fortunate for Ron that his mouth was not full of food at that moment because his jaw was hanging open, stupidly. “I was hoping zat all of my, how you say … brozers-in-law, would dance with me on my wedding day.”

“Err … well … err … yes … err,” mumbled Ron, frozen in fear.

Harry gave Ron a shove from behind, throwing him off balance in Fleur’s direction. He put out an arm to save himself from falling, and Fleur adroitly caught his hand in hers. “Enchanté,” she said, dragging him off to the dance floor. Harry could not stop laughing. Poor Ron was in total shock. “Very smooth, Mr Potter,” said Hermione, who had witnessed the whole episode. She was obviously annoyed that Ron was dancing with Fleur, although she couldn’t help but be amused at how Harry had _pushed him_.

“I could give him a shove in your direction, if you like,” said Harry with a sly grin.

“Don’t you dare!” cried Hermione. “Anyway, who says I want to dance with the immature prat … and if he wants to dance with me, he can ask me himself, without any help from you or anyone else. And I won’t be doing a _Flirt_ either, and throwing myself in front of him!”

“OK,” said Harry, holding up his hands. “Hey, Hermione, you haven’t danced with me, yet.”

Hermione grabbed Harry and led him towards the dance floor. “That’s because you didn’t ask me — in fact I haven’t seen you dance with anyone but Ginny,” she said with a grin. “You two are almost as bad as Lupin and Tonks,” said Hermione, nodding towards the pair as they danced by, eyes locked together. “They seem to be lost in their own world, and they look really happy.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “they do. Hey, did you notice that Mr Weasley seems rather keen on Fleur’s mum. Mind you, she is rather attractive — you can see where Fleur gets it from.”

“And you can see where Ron gets it from, too!” said Hermione irritably. “Although, I think Monsieur Delacour has broken Mr Weasley’s spell.”

“What, did he challenge him to a duel?”

“Don’t be silly. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by other men falling for his wife. He’s been busy charming all the witches off their feet — and I must say, he is rather smooth. He seems particularly taken with Mrs Weasley, and he was dancing with her whenever she was free ... until Mr Weasley finally noticed — he was the one who got jealous. He’s been dancing with his wife ever since, and seems to have quite forgotten about _Mama Flirt_.”

Harry laughed. Sure enough, there were Mr and Mrs Weasley dancing together like a couple of love-struck teenagers. After the dance with Hermione, Harry saw Ginny was dancing with Fred … or was it George? Monsieur Delacour had managed to prise Tonks away from Remus Lupin for a dance, so Harry took the opportunity to talk to him.

“Hi, Harry,” said Lupin, smiling at him fondly. “How you doing?”

“OK,” said Harry. “Hey, can I ask you about someone you went to school with?”

“Sure,” said Lupin, taking a swig from his bottle of Butterbeer. “Who?”

“Jason Trolove”

“Jason Trolove?” asked Lupin, raising his eyebrows. “Goodness, I haven’t seen him or heard anything about him since he disappeared in seventh year. Where did you hear his name … oh, I can guess … this is about your mother, right?”

“Yeah, well sort of; err, was she really his girlfriend at school?”

“Yes, she was. In fact, the pair of them were thick as thieves right from first year. Around fourth year they became an item. I can remember how much it annoyed James. He went out with lots of girls, but it was always Lily he wanted to be with. But she only had eyes for Jason.”

“Did my dad give Trolove a hard time?” asked Harry, half hopefully.

“Well, he certainly tried, ably assisted by Sirius, of course,” Lupin replied with a grin. “Mind you, it was not with quite the same dedication they devoted to harassing Snape. But your dad used to needle Jason frequently and kept trying to goad him into a duel. Unlike Snape, he never reacted; it was like water off a duck’s back. He had amazing self-control. He was also very bright, came top every year.”

“I thought my mum beat him,” said Harry.

“Well, she usually beat him in Potions — mind you, Slughorn was rather partial to Lily. And I don’t think he often bested her in Charms, either. She was absolutely brilliant there. But Jason came top in just about everything else. He was a strange chap, low-key, a bit of a chameleon really; the sort of person who kept quiet and no one noticed. He never put his hand up in class to answer questions —”

“Not like Hermione,” said Harry, grinning.

“No,” laughed Lupin, “quite the opposite. But if no one knew the answer and the professor asked him, he invariably got it right. He was Muggle-born, you know, from a working-class family; his clothes were always old and worn, and his books looked like they came from the second-hand section of Flourish and Blotts. A lot of people looked down on him or simply dismissed him as an oddball, but he had an unmistakable presence if you took the trouble to get to know him.”

“Did you? Were you friends with him?”

“We got on well. I always liked him. For one thing, he figured out I was werewolf long before anyone else — apart from Lily, who somehow seemed to know it intuitively, the moment we met. Jason didn’t treat me like a pariah; in fact he was really interested in knowing what it felt like when I transformed. I think he found my being a werewolf fascinating rather than frightening or repulsive. He was supportive and sympathetic, but sadly, I couldn’t really be friends with him,” said Lupin with a faint smile.

“And be friends with my dad and Sirius as well?” asked Harry.

Lupin nodded. “James and Sirius disliked him right from the start because Lily liked him so much; and when they eventually became an item, their antipathy increased. Your father wasn’t the most modest of chaps, especially when he was younger. He and Sirius insinuated that Jason was using love potions and other possibly illegal enchantments. They became increasingly frustrated when he wouldn’t rise to their gibes and challenges, and they openly accused him of cowardice. But only up till sixth year.”

“Why? What happened?”

“There was a sixth year duelling tournament; everyone had to take part. It was a knockout competition — best-of-three duels, with the winners going on to the next round. Jason didn’t lose a single duel; he took every match in two straight wins. He dispatched Sirius in the semi-final and trounced James in the final.”

“How did he do it?” asked Harry.

“He used spells, jinxes, and shield charms that no one had heard of. Nothing particularly nasty, mostly obscure Confundus Charms that he’d come across in the ancient library books he devoured. Of course, we looked them up afterwards to find out how to use them ourselves and block them, but he never used the same spell twice; he was unbeatable. But it wasn’t just the spells, it was the magical power behind them, and the way he blocked everything thrown at him.”

“So, how come my mum split up with him and started going out with my dad?” asked Harry. So far everything Lupin said corroborated Jason’s account, but he wanted to know more about how his mother and father finally got together and how they really felt about each other.

“I don’t even know if they did split up; I really have no idea what happened. About two-thirds of the way through seventh year, Jason suddenly left Hogwarts; he just disappeared. No one ever found out where he went, or why. If Lily knew, she didn’t let on; but soon after he left she became friendlier with us and started hanging out more in the Gryffindor common room, although she still spent time with a Ravenclaw friend, Miranda.

“James didn’t waste time in asking her for a date; and amazingly, having refused him a thousand times before and constantly given him the _Ice Queen_ treatment, she actually said _yes_ — and the rest, as they say, is history. People used to joke that James must have been responsible for Jason’s disappearance — that he’d used a spell to banish him to some remote part of Africa without his wand. There were some pretty far-fetched stories doing the rounds as I recall.”

“But, how come she changed her mind about my dad?” asked Harry. “I mean, she used to hate him; didn’t it seem … I don’t know … a bit strange?”

“It did at first, especially to me. I was always friendly with Lily, and I knew her much better than either James or Sirius did. Your mother really didn’t like James — or Sirius, who was almost as self-satisfied and arrogant. Mind you, they were both very popular with the witches, which only seemed to improve their own opinions of themselves. I don’t think James ever understood Lily’s true feelings towards him. He was conceited enough to believe that she was as desperately in love with him as all the other witches. But, because she was Muggle-born, he imagined she felt inferior and could not believe he really liked her, and must be just playing with her. But it wasn’t like that at all. Lily never felt inferior to James or Sirius — or anyone else. She really did despise James and Sirius, but they were simply too big-headed to believe it.

“Remember, Harry, your dad was an only child from a very wealthy, pure-blood family who pampered and spoiled him, so it was hardly surprising if he had a rather high opinion of himself when he first came to Hogwarts.”

Lupin’s words conjured up unwanted images of Draco Malfoy in Harry’s mind. Maybe his mother reacted the same way to his father as he did to the arrogant Malfoy git.

“But then how could they have gotten together?”

“I was talking more about how James and Sirius were in their first few years at Hogwarts. They both matured over time and became less self-centred and more considerate of others …well, with the exception of Snape, perhaps. James would never have made Head Boy otherwise. And with Lily being Head Girl, I suppose they had to work together sometimes, and Lily realised that James was not the same arrogant prat he had been a few years earlier and maybe began to appreciate his good qualities — and believe me, he had plenty. It would have seemed unthinkable while Jason was around because the pair of them were so close, and so obviously in love. But once Jason disappeared, it was not all that surprising that Lily should become attracted to James. What was surprising is how quickly and completely it happened.”

“So you think my mum and dad really liked each other?” asked Harry, awkwardly.

“What a strange question,” said Lupin. “Yes, of course they did. They were really happy together, especially James, after pursuing Lily for so many years. But don’t get me wrong, Harry, Lily also liked James, and I believe, eventually came to love him. In fact, it was Lily who proposed to James; she knew exactly what she wanted.”

To fulfil her vision, maybe? wondered Harry. At that point, Tonks came and dragged Lupin off to dance. Harry figured he would probably never know his mother’s true feelings about his father. Maybe she really did come to love him as Lupin thought … and maybe not. Perhaps it was just her determination to make her _Future of Hope_ vision come true. Maybe she continued to love Jason for the rest of her life. 

Jason had told the truth, he realised; and he had to admire the way he had not tried to influence his mother’s decision and got out of the way once she made it. From his own feelings for Ginny, Harry could appreciate how difficult it must have been. He still felt uncomfortable about Jason and his mum, but maybe less resentful now. Then there was the duelling competition. Maybe he had underestimated Jason; maybe he should give him a chance and follow his advice … maybe even return to Hogwarts. 


	5. Magic, the Universe, and Everything

_**Chapter 5 ~ Magic, the Universe, and Everything** _

“Are you going to tell us what you’ve been researching for the past twenty years?” asked Hermione eagerly. It was their second-to-last night at the Burrow, and they would soon be back at Hogwarts. Jason had again summonsed them from the lounge with a sleepiness spell, and the three of them were comfortably seated on the wide couch that, moments earlier, had been Harry’s bed.

Before Jason could reply, Harry said, “I’m sure it’s really fascinating and all, but I’d be more interested in knowing how you’re planning to help me defeat Voldemort. It was interesting hearing about my mother and how she prophesied that I would fight Voldemort, but —”

“Defeat Voldemort,” chipped in Hermione.

“Well, yeah, that was encouraging, I guess, but I still don’t have a clue how I’m supposed to defeat him; and there’s no point in even trying until the Horcruxes are all destroyed, because he’ll just come back again.”

“Harry, I understand your anxiety,” said Jason. “But please, forget about the Horcruxes for the moment — they are not your problem right now.”

“What, do you expect me to trust Snape to deal with them?” demanded Harry.

“No, that would be asking the impossible, but I do expect you to trust Dumbledore and everything he set in motion to achieve Voldemort’s ultimate defeat. You have a crucial part to play, Harry; it seems the task of finally destroying him will fall upon you. But please remember: you are one of many whose efforts will be required for the final victory. Dumbledore gave Severus the task of learning where Voldemort has hidden the remaining Horcruxes; which is not something you can do. The Order of the Phoenix are actively engaged in containing Death Eater activity and attempting to stymie their recruitment efforts. We cannot move against Voldemort until all the Horcruxes are destroyed — and until you are ready.”

“And what is your task?” asked Harry.

“To get you ready; to train you; and to help you develop the magical power you need to defeat Voldemort.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“If you allow me to answer Hermione’s question, you will know.”

Harry grudgingly sat back on the couch and listened.

“Like me, you grew up in the Muggle world, Harry — you too, Hermione. Magic must have been a bit of shock to you when you first came to Hogwarts — I know it was to me. Did you ever try to figure out how magic fitted in with everything you previously knew about the world?” 

“Not really,” replied Harry.

“I did,” said Hermione, “but it just didn’t seem to fit. It was like being on another planet where all the things I’d learned in the Muggle world — about science and technology — were still true, but then there was this other thing, magic, which seemed to obey a completely different set of laws. I guess I was more focussed on learning those laws, learning about magic and becoming good at it, than puzzling over how it fitted in with the way Muggles saw the world.”

“Whereas I was unable to stop puzzling over it,” said Jason. “It seemed to me that there were things in the Muggle world that were in some ways similar to magic: astrology, fortune-telling, exorcism, the occult, voodoo, witch-doctors, spiritual healers, and of course, the many different religions.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Harry. “Apart from religion, most Muggles don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Maybe most Muggles in Britain today don’t,” replied Jason, “but many Muggles in other places and at other times have believed in these things. What I was looking for was a common thread running through them all.”

“They are all outside the realm of science,” reflected Hermione.

“Correct. Science is a body of knowledge arrived at by logical thought, hypothesis, and experimentation. It aims to discover the basic laws that describe how things work in the universe. Technology utilises those laws. Muggles in the western world believe that their scientific theories alone are right because the technologies based upon them work — electricity, cars, aeroplanes, spaceships, and so on.” 

“But, hang on,” said Ron. “Magic works, too; but Muggles never see it working, so they don’t believe in it.”

“True,” replied Jason, “but it is not just magic that works. Religions — and there are hundreds, maybe thousands of them, also work. Miracles occur, prayers are answered, and prophecies come to pass — not always of course, but certainly it happens. There are a plethora of other non-scientific practices that are not considered religions — like astrology, fortune-telling, voodoo, witch-doctors, shamans, spiritual healers, psychics, and so on, which also appear to work, if one can believe the claims of their adherents. In fact, I doubt very much if there has ever been a people living on earth that did not believe in something or other of the kind.” 

“What’s interesting,” mused Hermione, “is that most religions claim that those other non-religious practices you mentioned don’t work — that they are based on superstition and delusion. And nearly every religion claims that it alone knows the true god and every other religion has got it wrong.”

“Quite right,” said Jason. “And, of course, practitioners of the various non-religious traditions also believe that only their particular beliefs are true and only their practices work.”

“This is all very interesting;” said Harry impatiently, “but I don’t see the relevance — at least not to killing Voldemort.”

“Ah, but it is highly relevant, Harry. Please be patient a little longer. I realised that there were thousands of what might be called _non-scientific belief systems_. They all contradict each other to a greater or lesser extent, and they also contradict science.”

“So what?” asked Harry, no longer troubling to hide his growing impatience.

Jason smiled. “They work — perhaps not all of them, perhaps not all the time, but most of them work sometimes to some degree or another.”

“That would seem logically impossible,” said Hermione, “because they are based on contradictory belief systems. But they do work, just like magic works. Why?”

“A very good question. In fact, precisely the question that haunted me all my years at Hogwarts and for many years after.”

“So did you find an answer?” asked Harry impatiently.

Jason ignored him. “For most of those years, I travelled widely, mainly in Asia, Africa, the Pacific, and the Middle East. Modern communications and technology are spreading western culture and values rapidly throughout the world, including the monopoly of science which, sadly, is destroying thousands of diverse cultures and belief systems that have existed for centuries. I was fortunate to make my journey before the destruction was too comprehensive. I studied these _non-scientific belief systems_ , even if they were only held by some small tribe of a few hundred people. But it was more than a study — in many cases I practiced their systems and experienced them working.”

“How do you explain the fact that something based on false beliefs actually works?” asked Hermione.

“Because, none of them _are_ entirely false; there is an element of truth in them all.”

Even Hermione was looking perplexed now.

“I know it’s hard to grasp. Imagine you are looking at the night sky. Firstly, there is the appearance of all those stars hanging in the sky in what seems to be a regular hemisphere draped majestically around the Earth. But the reality of the universe is nothing remotely like that. The stars are hurtling through space at incredible speeds, and some are millions of times further away from the Earth than others. And it is not really the stars themselves that you see; it’s the light that began travelling from them, possibly millions of years ago. Some of them ceased to exist long before you were born or even before life began on Earth.

“To take the metaphor a bit further, the appearance of the night sky to someone standing on a planet in some distant galaxy, far from ours, would be utterly different. Yet the reality of the universe you are both looking at is exactly the same.

“Wow, I get it!” exclaimed Hermione. “You’re saying that all these _non-scientific belief systems_ are like the appearance of the universe seen from lots of different planets.”

“But what does this have to do with magic?” asked Ron.

“Everything,” replied Jason. “In the analogy of the star-gazers, the different observers on the different planets are, in fact, looking at exactly the same universe, even though they perceive it very differently from each. But, even more significantly, none of them can see the true reality which lies behind it. In the case of magic, religion, and all the other _non-scientific belief systems_ , their various adherents are looking at the same world; but again, they see it very differently. They have different _world views_ or beliefs about the nature of life and truth.”

“And,” added Hermione excitedly, “none of them can see the true reality of what lies behind it.”

“See what?” asked Harry, struggling to keep up with Hermione.

“The Power, Force, Energy, Spirit, Earth Mother, Gaia, God, Allah, Buddha, Tao, Chi — call it what you like,” explained Jason. “Each and every _non-scientific belief system_ is based upon it. They have different names for it, different images of it — in other words, different appearances. And, while none of them may be remotely close to the underlying reality, they all touch it or connect with it in some way, just like our observers who look at the night sky connect with the universe without seeing its true reality.”

“And have you actually managed to see this thing — this power or energy or whatever it is?” asked Hermione in awe.

“No, I haven’t, although I certainly tried. There are some religions that aim to do just that — to _see God_ , some would call it. I concluded that it is as impossible for us humans, with our limited mental faculties and perceptions, to truly see or understand the nature of the _Source_ (which I shall call it) as it is for an observer to truly see and understand the nature of the universe by looking at the night sky.”

“So, basically, you wasted twenty years,” said Harry dismissively.

“Not at all,” said Jason. “I reached that conclusion quite early on in my travels. What I was chiefly trying to understand was how all these systems were able to utilise the _Source_ without actually having a clear idea of what it really was.”

“What was the point of that?” asked Harry.

“To learn how to utilise it more effectively,” replied Jason.

Hermione gasped, but before she could speak, Jason continued.

“Magic — like all the other _non-scientific belief systems_ — works by utilising the _Source._ I wanted to know how. Some wizards and witches are more powerful than others. I wanted to know why.”

“Because they utilise the _Source_ more effectively?” asked Hermione excitedly.

“Exactly,” said Jason. “Or, to put it another way: because they are able to connect more deeply with the _Source_.”

“And did you learn how to do that, to connect deeply with the _Source_ ,” asked Harry, finally seeing where this was headed.

“Yes, I did.”

“And did it increase your magical powers?” asked Harry.

“Immensely.”

“Can you teach me how to do it?”

“That’s the plan,” said Jason, grinning.

“But how did you discover how to do that?” asked Hermione. “I mean, wizards and witches have been trying to find ways to become more magically powerful for centuries.”

“But that’s exactly it. You see in most of these _non-scientific belief systems_ — including magic — people have tried to become more powerful, but it never works because the motivation is personal gain. However, I found a number of religious traditions, particularly amongst some of the more obscure Hindu and Buddhist sects, where they simply aspire to experience the _Source_ as deeply as possible. Not to describe it, define it, encapsulate it, or even understand it. Nor are they seeking personal power or worldly gain of any kind. They simply want to experience it for its own sake.”

“What’s the point? Why would they bother?” asked Ron.

“Because it is the most beautiful, sublime experience imaginable. These are clumsy words, an attempt to describe something indescribable. There are many methods and practices used in various religious and other belief systems. We will be working with some of them, Harry. I found, with practice, I was able to touch the _Source_ at will.”

“But, how will you teach me?” asked Harry. “I’m supposed to be returning to Hogwarts in a few days.”

“So am I,” said Jason. “In his message to Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore asked her to employ me.”

“You’ll be sorry,” laughed Ron. “The Defence Against the Dark Arts position is jinxed — no one ever lasts longer than a year.”

“Not a problem,” said Jason, “I’m only coming to Hogwarts to help Harry; I’m not planning on staying more than a year. The idea of teaching a bunch of school kids does not appeal one bit — give me my peaceful cave in the mountains any day! In any case, I’ll be teaching Potions.”

“Oh, is Professor Slughorn leaving?” asked Hermione.

“Wild Hippogriffs couldn’t make him stay, according to Professor McGonagall. He feels Hogwarts is far too dangerous for a man of his advanced years.”

Ron snorted. “So, do you know who’ll be replacing Snape?”

“Again, at Dumbledore’s posthumous suggestion, Remus Lupin will be returning to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. I understand he will also be giving you extra training, Harry.”

“That’s great. He was brilliant,” said Harry.

“How will Professor Lupin manage without Wolfsbane Potion?” asked Hermione. “Last time he was at Hogwarts, Snape brewed it for him every month. It will be very difficult for Professor Lupin — and dangerous for the students — without it.”

“I shall be brewing it. Admittedly, I only came second to Lily in Potions, but hopefully, I am up to the challenge. In addition to Remus, another member of the Order of the Phoenix, a witch named Nymphadora Tonks, will be teaching Transfiguration now that Professor McGonagall is Headmistress. They clearly wish to maintain a strong presence at Hogwarts.”

“Wow, she should be really good,” said Hermione, “being a Metamorphmagus.”

“So, are you a member of the Order?” asked Ron.

“No, and I don’t intend joining. There are only four people who know about Lily’s prophecy, and they are all sitting in this room. Likewise, the only four people who know of Severus’ true allegiance, or the nature of what I will be teaching Harry, are in this room. The only member of the Order who knows I will be working with Harry is Professor McGonagall, but she is unaware of its true significance. Remus and Tonks will also, no doubt, become aware that I am working with Harry. Inevitably, the three of them will come to suspect the true nature of my role. I can only ask them to be careful about what they share with other members of the Order.”

“Yeah, like Mundungus Fletcher,” said Harry, “I wouldn’t trust that thieving —” 

“The fewer people who know about the things I have confided in you, the better. It’s not that I mistrust anyone in the Order, but there are many ways of extracting information from people against their will. The best way to keep something secret is to tell as few people as possible. The only reason I am telling you two all of this,” said Jason, looking at Ron and Hermione, “is that if I don’t, Harry will. Telling you avoids the possibility of his being overheard. Plus, it will save him time — and he will be a very busy wizard this year.”

“I realise you have to focus on teaching Harry, but will Ron and I be able to join in sometimes?” asked Hermione hopefully.

“Hermione, it took me many years of constant and exhaustive effort to develop the abilities I need to pass on to Harry in a very short time. It was a process of trial and error for me. I experimented with different methods from different traditions. Sometimes I spent months following paths that turned out to be dead ends. I intend to distil from all of this the most intensive and concentrated program possible to help Harry reach the _Source_ (the _Source of Magic_ ). Once Harry begins to near it, I will be able to teach him some of the magic I have learned. Much, but not all of it, requires the enormous magical power that can only come from a deep connection with the _Source._ It will require all my time and energy, working one-on-one with Harry.”

“It sounds difficult,” said Harry, wondering if he was really up to it. He remembered how hopeless he’d been at learning Occlumency from Snape. “I mean, not just anyone can do this stuff, right? Lupin told me how you won the duelling tournament when you were in sixth year at Hogwarts — how you beat everyone, including Sirius and my dad. You must have already had a lot of magical power….”

“So do you, Harry, otherwise I wouldn’t even be considering it. Let me ask Ron and Hermione: If there had been a sixth year duelling tournament last year at Hogwarts, who would have won it?”

“Harry,” they both replied without hesitation.

“And remember your mother’s prophecy, Harry; so far it has been spot on. Be cautious, but also be confident. Hermione, there are other spells I have learned in my travels that do not require extraordinary magical power. Some of them I intend to demonstrate to Remus. Hopefully, he will include them in the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Others, I would like to keep secret for now to give Harry the advantage of surprise — unknown spells are hard to block or counter. But I will try to include the two of you as much as possible when discussing strategy and revealing new developments — to save Harry time it repeating it all to you,” he said with a grin.

“I suppose we’ll have to get used to calling you _Professor_ ,” grumbled Harry.

“Well,” said Jason with a smirk, “in public yes. You know how it is at Hogwarts; but if any of you call me ‘Professor’ in a private, I may just have to hex you horribly.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The following morning, Harry asked Ginny to walk down to the pond with him. It was another lovely sunny day. They sat in one of their favourite spots under a tall Weeping Willow that leaned out over the water with its long trailing leaves touching the surface of the pond.

“Ginny, I’ve decided I’m going to return to Hogwarts, after all,” began Harry awkwardly, determined to get this painful conversation over with. 

Ginny’s face lit up. She had been careful not to press Harry. She knew he had to decide his future alone; but still, she had hoped in her heart that this would not be their last day together. Ginny knew there was more to come; she took Harry’s hand in hers, remaining silent.

Harry looked away from Ginny, letting his eyes fall on a ripple in the middle of the pond. “Ginny, remember I said at Dumbledore’s funeral how I couldn’t be involved with you any more because I couldn’t bear it, if it was your funeral, and it was my fault?” Ginny remained silent; with her eyes fixed steadfastly on the horizon.

“When I first came to the Burrow, I wasn’t planning on going back to school. I thought these were the last weeks we would have together, so we might as well be happy while we could. Anyway, no one but your family and Hermione would know, so it didn’t seem like a big risk. But tomorrow we’re going back to Hogwarts … so we really have to stop seeing each other … once and for all. I know it’s going to be painful … for both of us, but I can’t put you at risk. I can’t allow you become a target for Voldemort.”

“But I already am,” replied Ginny fiercely. “Everyone knows we were together at the end of last year, including Malfoy, Parkinson, and all the others whose parents are Death Eaters.”

“That’s why we have to stop seeing each other. You have to find yourself another boyfriend, so they’ll know you’ve left me for someone else and think I’m jealous and angry with you — that I don’t care about you anymore … and then there’ll be no point in trying to use you to get to me,” said Harry quickly, attempting to control his emotions.

Ginny lifted her hand to Harry’s chin and gently turned his face towards hers so he could no longer avoid her gaze. “Harry, whatever happens now is not the end of you and me. When you first told me we had to stop seeing each other at the funeral, I knew how I felt about you, but I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. But after this last month together, I know you feel the same way. So its silly saying we’re not going to be together when we both know it’s what we want … more than anything —”

“But Ginny, maybe we can’t have what we want. I guess I’m used to it because I never seem to get what I want. We really have to part! There is something I need to do, and it will be easier if I’m not worrying about endangering you. And you have to get on with your life — with someone else.”

“I’m sorry Harry, but I can’t do that. The best I can do is to pretend indifference and stay away from you. But I want you to know: I’ll just be waiting. I’ll be waiting until it’s all over and we can be together again. I couldn’t be with someone else when I feel this way about you.”

“But you have to Ginny! It’s the only way to convince people that we’re really not together. The only other option is for me to date someone else, but that would just be putting them in danger, so I can’t do it.”

They remained silent for a long time. Harry looked down despondently at the muddy edge of the water, while Ginny stared off into the distance, her eyes unfocussed, lost in thought. Finally she spoke. “Look, Harry, it’s not how we really feel about each other that matters, it’s what people think, right?”

“Err, right,” said Harry uncertainly. “But what do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Ginny smiling at him, “that we can be together as long as everyone thinks we’re not.”

“But how?”

“Tomorrow, on the Hogwarts Express, you and I will have a huge row and split up.”

“What about?”

“Anything … I know, I’ll catch you snogging another girl.”

“What? Err, who?”

“Hermione. She’ll agree once she understands the plan.”

“You want me to snog Hermione? No, wait, hang on, Ginny, this is crazy! Then Hermione will become Voldemort’s target instead of you — and I’ll become Ron’s target. He’ll kill me!” 

“No, it’s brilliant,” said Ginny, grinning. “You see, you won’t stay with Hermione; it will all be over in the first week of term. You and Hermione will have a very public fight in the Great Hall.”

“What? What will we fight about? I really don’t get this.”

“Ron! You’ll claim you caught Ron and Hermione carrying on behind your back and call her all sorts of nasty names. She’ll tell you how pathetic you are, and go off with Ron.”

“But Ron may not go along with it. He’ll have to pretend to be with Hermione, and he may not want to.”

“Come on, Harry, you can’t be that blind. Ron wants to be with Hermione, but he’s just too terrified to make the first move. Hermione is too proud to make it either, because she thinks she’s given him enough hints already, and it’s time for him to grow up and take a risk. That’s the beauty of my plan: He won’t have a choice. He’ll have to pretend to be with Hermione to save her from becoming a target, and once he starts pretending, the floodgates of unrequited love might just burst open,” she said with a wicked grin.

“But it would still be far more convincing if you went out with someone else, even if it wasn’t, you know … all that serious,” said Harry quietly. It was not something he wanted to think about too much.

“Or pretend to go out with someone else,” said Ginny thoughtfully.

“Like who?”

“Neville,” said Ginny. “We’re good friends, and if I confided in him that I needed it to appear that I had a boyfriend, but it was just for show, I think he’d go along with it. I’m sure I could trust him to keep the pretence a secret.”

“But what if Neville develops a crush on you, Ginny? I wouldn’t like to see him get hurt, and I think he may really like you.”

“Actually, I think he’s become rather keen on Luna Lovegood. Anyway, he’ll know that you and I are secretly together, so he won’t get any silly ideas.”

“But if he’s keen on Luna, then being with you — or at least pretending to be — isn’t going to help him with Luna, is it?”

“But of course it is … how come boys don’t understand anything? Nothing makes a boy more attractive to a girl than seeing other girls attracted to him … that’s how it works!”

“Really?” asked Harry, shaking his head. “Well, I don’t think Neville knows that.”

“Don’t worry,” said Ginny happily, “I’ll explain it to him.”

“But hang on; he still can’t be with Luna while he’s with you, can he?”

“No, of course not; but Neville and I will have a big fight over him sneaking off with Luna, which will let me off the hook.”

“But hang on,” said Harry getting confused again, just when he thought he was beginning to catch on to Ginny’s incredibly convoluted plan. “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of the exercise? You have to be with someone to make it obvious that you’re not with me.”

“Yes, but not for the rest of my life, Harry. A month or two with Neville and a very public break-up — in which he dumps me — and no one will even remember that you and I were together for a few weeks at the end of the last school year.”

“But won’t it seem rather strange that someone would dump one of the most popular girls in school for … well, just about the most unpopular?”

“Of course, which means everyone will be talking about it for ages; it just makes the whole thing between me and Neville seem much bigger in their minds than you and me being together before that. And remember, most people think Neville is pretty peculiar, so it wouldn’t seem so incredible. Plus, Neville and Luna really are a great match — I think they might be really happy together.”

“I don’t know, Ginny. It all seems unbelievably complicated. Are you sure it’s going to work?”

“Absolutely,” said Ginny with a grin, “and you and I can make good use of that Invisibility Cloak of yours.” 


	6. The Mole from the Ministry of Magic

_**Chapter 6 ~ The Mole from the Ministry of Magic**_

They had to be up bright and early the following morning for the return to Hogwarts. The Order of the Phoenix were very concerned about safety — particularly Harry’s — especially since the Ministry of Magic were protecting no one but themselves. With Arthur Weasley no longer at the Ministry, there was no chance of getting Ministry limousines or Auror protection for the trip to King’s Cross. However, Mundungus Fletcher had managed to _obtain_ an old Mini for the Order, which had been given magical protections and modifications. All of their trunks fitted easily into the boot, and the four students found the back seat very spacious — although Harry and Ginny would have preferred a bit more of a squeeze. Dung had made some lame excuse as to why he was unavailable to drive; but Harry suspected it was because Dung was in no hurry to see him again after being caught red-handed thieving valuables from Grimmauld Place.

Remus Lupin picked them up in the Mini, and Mr and Mrs Weasley sat in front with him. Harry appreciated the extra protection, but he wished they would stop turning around to talk so often. All he and Ginny could do was hold hands, and they were going to need to begin the charade of breaking up soon. The trip to the station was quick. The Mini dived in-and-out of traffic with extraordinary ease. Tonks met them at the station with her trademark bubblegum pink hair. She gave Lupin a big hug before greeting the others and helping them load their things onto the luggage trolleys she had brought for them.

Each adult stayed close to one of the students as they hurried them into the station and towards the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters. Lupin, walking next to Harry, said quietly, “Tonks and I will be on the train. If anything unexpected happens, lock the door to your compartment and stay there. There are magical protections on the Hogwarts Express that prevent the doors being opened from the outside.”

Harry nodded. He wondered if they had been warned of an imminent attack. Maybe the Order had a spy, or maybe the information came from Snape via Jason. Or maybe they were just being extra cautious because the Ministry of Magic were like a bunch of useless ostriches with their heads buried firmly in the sand. As soon as they were through the barrier, Mrs Weasley gave them each a hug and kiss, and then they were quickly bundled onto the train. Harry noticed many of the other parents were also looking about the platform nervously, and seemed anxious to get their children onto the train as quickly as possible. Obviously no one had any faith in Fudge and the Ministry; nor did they believe that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had suddenly decided to behave themselves — just because Fudge was pretending they were.

They found an empty compartment and stowed their trunks and animals in the luggage rack before Ginny, Ron, and Hermione headed up to the front of the train towards the prefects’ carriage. Hermione was the last to leave. 

Turning back towards Harry, she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’s all on for when we return from the prefects’ meeting. Ginny will detain Ron a bit to allow us to get into a convincingly compromising situation before she surprises us _en flagrant délit_. I’m sure you’ll know what to do after all the practice you’ve had with Ginny for the past month,” she added with a cheeky grin before carefully straightening her Head Girl badge and rushing off after the others.

Harry sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the clouds of dark smoke that billowed endlessly towards him from the engine’s smokestack, as he wondered anxiously what the future would bring. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when the compartment door slid open and Neville Longbottom entered, dragging his trunk. After exchanging greetings, Neville put his things up on the luggage rack and launched into an enthusiastic account of the unusual plants he had raised from seed over the summer. He was just reaching up for one of his seedling containers when they were joined by Luna Lovegood, who greeted them in her usual vague, dreamy way. Neville seemed to forget all about the Chinese Chomping Cabbage he was about to show Harry and instead took Luna’s trunk from her and heaved it up onto the luggage rack. 

Luna smiled at Neville who sat down opposite her by the door. Harry noticed that Neville seemed quite interested in Luna. He was listening with interest to the discursive account of her travels with her eccentric father on an expedition high up in the Pyrenees in search of the legendary Log-Haired Snaffle-Footed Snark. Harry couldn’t follow Luna’s rambling ravings, but Neville seemed absorbed. It looked like Ginny was right about Neville liking Luna; but Harry wasn’t sure how Luna felt about Neville; she was such a dreamy one, it was hard to tell.

Harry filtered out Luna’s voice as he stared once more out the window at the dark clouds of smoke. The prefects meeting would soon be over, and he was dreading what would happen when Hermione returned, along with Ginny and Ron. _Damn it,_ he was going to have to do the whole thing in front of Neville and Luna — how embarrassing was that going to be? As the minutes ticked by his anxiety increased.

Suddenly the door slid open and Hermione entered. After briefly greeting Neville and Luna, she slid down beside Harry, and said loudly, “Come on Harry, quick, we only have a few minutes been before Ginny gets back.” Then she began kissing him in earnest. Harry put his arm around Hermione and pulled her close as Neville and Luna gasped in astonishment. But their gasps were nothing compared to Ginny’s strident outburst as she rushed through the door and dragged a screaming Hermione away from Harry by the hair. In the doorway, his face white with shock, stood Ron, too dumbfounded to utter a word. Behind him a curious crowd was gathering, staring at the furious red-haired witch, who, having thrown Hermione to the floor, was now laying into Harry, who held his hands up attempting to protect his face from Ginny’s ferocious attack.

“You two-timing bastard, Potter!” she shrieked, as she continued to flail away at him. “The minute my back’s turned you’re snogging that Granger slut for all you’re worth. Well, you won’t make a fool of me again, that’s for sure. Rita Skeeter was dead right about you all along: You’re delusional … you think you’re god’s gift to witches. I suppose you really believe all that rubbish about being the _Chosen One_. Well you’re not my chosen one. I hate you!” she screamed at the top of her voice before pushing her way furiously through the gaggle of onlookers lining the corridor. She was a picture of fury that would have done her mother proud.

Hermione got up from the floor and sat down next to Harry, clucking over his red swollen face. “Forget her, Harry. She’s not worth it,” she said comfortingly as she kissed his inflamed cheek. Harry looked up and saw Ron, still standing in the doorway, staring at him with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and disgust at this act of ultimate betrayal by his two best friends. Ron could not have been in on the charade — he obviously believed it was real — why hadn’t he been told? Harry looked away; he felt nauseous, not to mention sore.

“Potter!” roared Ron, finally finding his voice as he advanced on Harry, his wand pointing menacingly at his chest.

“Ron, get out of this carriage, now!” yelled Hermione, jumping up and placing herself between Ron and Harry, her own wand pointing threateningly at his face.

“Says who?” snarled Ron. “Pulling Head Girl rank already, are we, Granger?”

But, before Hermione could reply, the train lurched to a sudden stop, throwing Hermione into an empty seat and Ron on top of Neville. Ron got awkwardly to his feet and peered out of the window, along with others, trying to see what was happening. A voice, enhanced by a Sonorous Charm, came from outside the train. It was the voice of a woman — a voice Harry recognised and loathed. Although he could not see her, he immediately knew it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

“There is no need to be alarmed, children,” she said in a harsh, cackling voice. “No one _need_ be harmed. This unscheduled stop concerns one student only: Harry Potter. The Dark Lord has unfinished business with you, Potter; and we are here to take you to him. I advise you to come quietly — simply open the carriage door, step off the train, and no one will be hurt. Or else … well, if you look out the corridor window you will see an enormous giant awaiting my command to charge, and batter down the door. The magical protections on this train will not withstand such an attack of brute force for long. And, if you look on the other side of the train, you will see several dozen Dementors. They are waiting for the giant to smash the door open … so they can enter … and begin their banquet on all the nice little children inside. Have I made myself clear, boy? You have thirty seconds to get off the train before I order the giant to attack.”

Harry jumped to his feet, his wand already in his hand. “No, Harry,” screamed Hermione, “don’t believe her; don’t —”

But Hermione was drowned out by a voice coming from the train’s magical speakers. “This is Professor Lupin. Everyone remain calm and listen carefully: All students, apart from prefects, are to remain in their compartments with the doors locked. Prefects, patrol the carriage corridors and ensure that no one leaves their compartment. Do not permit anyone to open the carriage doors under any circumstances. Do it now!”

Ron rushed towards the door, followed by Harry, who brushed past Hermione. “Petrificus Totalus,” she said pointing her wand and hitting Harry in the back with a Full Body Bind. Ron turned and gasped along with Neville and Luna, as Harry toppled rigidly to the floor. “Sorry, Harry, but I can’t let you hand yourself over to Voldemort,” said Hermione apologetically. Turning to Neville and Luna, she said with the full authority of Head Girl, “Don’t you dare lift that curse, unless you want to be responsible for his death! Lock the door behind us!” she said shoving Ron out into the corridor ahead of her.

Harry lay face-up on the floor, unable to move. He heard a distant thudding, which seemed to be coming closer and growing steadily louder. The train began to shudder in time with the enormous thuds. Harry heard Neville’s terrified voice. “Blimey, look at that giant, Luna! It’s massive; it must be twenty feet tall! And look at the size of the tree it’s planning on using as a battering ram. Oh, no! It’s coming right towards us … it’s headed straight for our carriage door!” he exclaimed in horror. “The Dementors will get us first. Come on, Luna, wands out, we better be ready to hit them with a Patronus Charm,” he said, holding his wand nervously and trying to sound braver than he felt.

The sound of the awful thudding drew nearer and nearer, growing louder and louder until it became deafening. Then suddenly, mysteriously, it simply ceased. Harry held his breath, waiting. What was happening? If only he could see something. 

“Gee, I wonder what’s happened to the giant?” asked Luna curiously. “Golly! It looks like he’s been picked by a flock of Invisible Flapping Flandangoes. Look! They’re lifting him higher and higher, but his momentum is going to carry him over the train,” she said, as she and Neville stepped carefully over Harry to get to the outside window of the compartment to try to catch a glimpse of the airborne giant.

“Actually, I don’t think it is Invisible Flapping Flandangoes,” said Neville. “It looks like something is pulling the giant’s tree up into the air, and he’s too stupid to let go. But he won’t be able to keep hold of it; he’s way too heavy. See, it’s slipping from his grasp. This is going to end very badly for the giant. Oh, oh! Look, he’s lost his grip!”

Harry heard a furious roar of despair, approaching fast, followed by an enormous crash that shook the ground so violently it seemed for a moment like the train would be thrown from the tracks. Then, without warning the door slid open and staring down at him was Remus Lupin. “Finite Incantatem,” he said pointing his wand at Harry and dragging him to his feet. “What happened to you?”

Harry said nothing but rushed to the window, desperate to see what was happening.

“Err, Hermione, kind of … err, stunned him,” volunteered Neville. “She got him the same way she got me in first year, with the Full Body Bind. Harry was trying get out of the compartment. I think Hermione was worried he might be trying to get off the train.”

“Smart witch, that one,” said Lupin.

“What’s happening?” asked Harry tensely.

“Tonks is up the front levitating off all the tree trunks the giant dragged onto the tracks to stop the train. There are four Death Eaters trying to blast one of the doors of the train open, and the Dementors are hovering about on the other side,” replied Lupin, sounding a little nervous.

“Do you think they’ll be able to get in?” asked Harry.

“I don’t think so. Professor Dumbledore created the enchantments that protect the Hogwarts Express,” he replied.

“Hey, look!” said Neville. “Something strange is happening to the Dementors. It looks like they’re being eaten … by … err, it looks like a flock of birds, or something; maybe they’re vultures.”

“They’re not birds,” said Luna peering out the window with her large protuberant eyes. “They’re angels.”

Neville and Harry snorted, but Lupin was watching them with rapt interest. “Luna, I think you’re right,” he said. “They’re tiny, like Imps or Leprechauns or Pixies, but their wings are quite different. They’re not like insect wings. They look feathery, and their bodies are almost transparent. You can only see them because they are glowing. And it does look like they are eating the Dementors. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I thought Dementors couldn’t be destroyed,” said Harry. 

“I certainly thought that — until now. The Patronus Charm shields you from them and drives them away, but it does not harm the Dementors. This magic is unheard of; it’s totally amazing. The Dementors are not even attempting to escape; they’re just floating about, allowing themselves to be devoured.”

Hermione burst into the compartment, panting. “Professor Lupin, look at the Death Eaters, they’ve thrown away their wands, and they’re … dancing!”

Everyone rushed out to the corridor to look through the window at the astonishing sight of Bellatrix Lestrange dancing energetically with one of the male Death Eaters while the other two males danced together with equal exuberance.

“What on earth are they doing?” asked Harry.

“The Tango, I believe,” replied Lupin. “It’s a rather lively dance of Latin American origin. If I’m not mistaken, they have been hit with a very powerful Confundus Charm that will force them to keep dancing until they collapse from exhaustion. The question,” he said, completely puzzled, “is who disposed of the giant, set those tiny angel-like creatures onto the Dementors, and cursed the Death Eaters?”

Hermione looked meaningfully at Harry, raising an eyebrow as they re-entered the compartment. They had just returned to their seats when Ginny entered, and, after a quick glance to make sure Harry was alright, she studiously avoided him. “Err, Professor Lupin, I hope you don’t mind, but when you ordered the prefects into the corridors, I stunned some of the Slytherin prefects … I don’t trust them. I’m sure some of their parents are Death Eaters. They may even have been told to open the doors when the train stopped.”

“A wise precaution, Ginny,” said Lupin with a smile. “I hadn’t thought of that. Since we are not yet at Hogwarts, no house points will be deducted.”

“How many did you get?” asked Hermione.

“Four,” said Ginny. “I couldn’t find Parkinson or the new Slytherin seventh year prefect, Zabini — the one who’s replacing Malfoy.”

“I got them,” said Hermione with a grin. “Good work, Ginny.”

“You, too,” said Ginny smiling. Then, noticing the puzzled looks on Luna and Neville’s faces, she suddenly remembered and added, “You bloody bitch!” and stormed out of the carriage.

Lupin looked at Hermione, utterly mystified. “What on earth was all that about?”

“Oh, nothing, just a lovers’ tiff,” she said sweetly, cuddling up next to Harry.

The train suddenly gave a jolt and lurched forwards. On one side, the enormous giant lay broken on his back. On the other, the four Death Eaters continued to dance furiously, oblivious to everything, including the departing train. Lupin looked at Harry and Hermione, shaking his head and feeling very confused as he left the compartment to check that everything was alright and to revive the stunned Slytherin prefects.

“Ron doesn’t know, does he?” asked Harry in a whisper.

“Of course not,” Hermione whispered back. She looked over towards Neville and Luna, but they seemed lost in their own conversation about the attack. “Ron can’t act to save his life; he’d never have been convincing if we’d told him.”

“Well, he sure was convincing, not knowing,” said Harry. “It looked like he couldn’t decide which one of us to hex first.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Hermione. “I’m pretty sure it was you he was going for.”

“Yeah, and he will again, if someone doesn’t tell him it's all an act. Err … who’s going to tell him?” asked Harry apprehensively.

“Ginny, of course. He’s not going to believe either of us, now is he? Ginny’s going to explain the whole plan to him before we get to Hogwarts. So just relax, and try to act like….”

“Like what?” asked Harry softly.

“Like I’m Ginny,” said Hermione, with a grin, grabbing Harry’s hand.

“Right,” he said, putting his arm around Hermione, remembering how important it was to convince everyone that he and Ginny had split up. “But please, no more kissing, OK?”

“Why, am I that bad?” whispered Hermione.

“No, it’s not that. It just makes me feel really bad, like I’m cheating on Ginny.”

“So, I’m a good snog then, am I?” asked Hermione with a grin. “I just thought I’d get the opinion of an expert.”

“Didn’t it hurt when Ginny dragged you off me by the hair?” asked Harry

“No, of course not; we had the whole thing choreographed. I had a numbing spell on my scalp. Didn’t you use one on your face?”

“No!” exclaimed Harry. Then seeing Luna and Neville suddenly look towards him, he lowered his voice and whispered, “I didn’t know she was going to attack like a tiger, did I?”

“Maybe Ginny thought you were lacking in acting ability, too, and that a surprise attack might elicit a more realistic response. I think she was right; you really looked stunned. It took you quite a while to realise what was happening and start protecting yourself. Your face is a bit of a mess; does it hurt much?”

“Well, of course it does. What do you think?” grumbled Harry.

Hermione pointed her wand at Harry’s blotchy red face and muttered a spell, instantly healing it.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “That feels better.”

“And it looks like she got your glasses as well; they’re all askew. Occulus Repairo,” she said, waving her wand at Harry’s glasses.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“Err … look, I’m sorry about using the Full Body Bind Curse on you,” said Hermione apologetically. “But, it really looked like you were going to….”

“Yeah, well, I suppose I was. I mean I couldn’t just stay on the train to save myself with all those Dementors out there waiting to get in and suck everyone’s soul out, could I?”

“Harry, honestly, sometimes you just don’t think. The Death Eaters weren’t going to put the Dementors on the train to attack indiscriminately. A lot of the Slytherins are children of Death Eaters, and, with all their recruiting, there are probably some in other houses, too. Plus, it would have been a public relations disaster for Voldemort. Even Fudge couldn’t cover up a Dementor attack on school children or continue to pretend his policy of détente was working. I’m sorry, Harry, but Bellatrix Lestrange was playing on your noble instincts — and, err, your tendency to not always think rationally. As soon as the giant had smashed in the door to our carriage, the Death Eaters would have come on the train and tried to stun you and drag you away. The Dementors were never going to be ordered onto the train. They were just there for the shock and awe effect.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Hermione,” conceded Harry, squeezing her hand. “Thanks; I guess you saved my life. Just remind me never to turn my back on you when you have your wand out,” he added with a smile. 

Neither Ron nor Ginny returned to the compartment. They continued their whispered conversation, which might have seemed rude to Neville and Luna, except they were supposed to be an item now, so it was fairly natural. Mostly they talked about the attack. They were both convinced that, unknown to Lupin, Tonks, and the Order, Jason Trolove was on the train and had dealt with the attackers. Hermione thought he probably used nothing more exotic than a very powerful Wingardium Leviosa Charm on the giant’s tree trunk to drag him up into the air and allow the stupid giant to be the cause of his own spectacular demise. The charm that left the Death Eaters dancing in a frenzy had Jason’s waggish humour written all over it. And then there was the unheard of magic that destroyed the Dementors. Hermione was certain Jason had to be behind that as well. 

“You know,” said Harry, “it’s taken a while, but I’m starting to feel positive about Jason.”

“I think the whole thing between Jason and your mother set you against him from the start. Plus, he’s a bit of a cerebral, sort of spiritual type … very different from your dad and Sirius. I think —”

“And Dumbledore,” said Harry, thoughtfully. “I really felt lost and alone when Dumbledore died — and betrayed when I found out he actually planned it! It’s like he’s always been there … almost like some god, knowing everything, understanding everyone … understanding me … even when I didn’t want to be understood. But more than that, Dumbledore always saw the big picture — of me and Voldemort — what the next step was, and the path I had to follow all the way to the final battle. When Dumbledore died, I felt lost and helpless and alone. Then Jason showed up, and there was this prophecy of my mum’s about him, and I thought he would take Dumbledore’s place and everything was going to be OK.”

“But no one could take Dumbledore’s place; that would be impossible.”

“Right, and when I realised Jason couldn’t, I suppose I blamed him — for not being Dumbledore. I just expected too much.”

“Dumbledore was a bit like a god, or at least an incredibly wise man,” reflected Hermione. “He helped you grow up, Harry. He taught you what was truly important — what was worth valuing in life. I think he died satisfied that you would be strong enough to carry on without him. Jason has his own kind of wisdom, but it’s different. His wisdom is narrower and more specific, but maybe it’s what you need at this point. If he can teach you to connect to the _Source_ , then you will have the power to destroy Voldemort.”

Harry looked for Jason when they arrived at Hogsmeade station, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. Soon, he, Hermione, Neville, and Luna were sharing a Thestral-drawn carriage up to the castle. As they got out and made their way into the Entrance Hall, Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and gave it a squeeze, reminding him they were not finished yet with their charade. They attracted a lot of inquisitive stares from the other students as they made their way towards the Great Hall. The news that Ginny Weasley had caught her boyfriend — now ex-boyfriend — Harry Potter in a compromising situation with the new Head Girl had rapidly done the rounds on the train, although most of the students were now more preoccupied with the subsequent Death Eater attack. Many of them were still white-faced and visibly shaken.

Harry sat next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table. He noticed Ginny holding court at the top end of the table, surrounded by Lavender, Parvati, and a couple of sixth year girls who were all shaking their heads disapprovingly and casting scandalised glances in Harry’s direction. Ginny was obviously giving a stirring account of his treachery. At the other end of the table, Ron was sitting sullen and silent as he glared harshly at Harry, who knew that it was no act. Despite knowing all the details of Ginny’s plan, it did not look like Ron would be forgiving him anytime soon.

“Look!” cried Hermione, pointing to the staff table, “Look who’s there!”

Harry looked up and immediately spotted Jason engaged in an animated conversation with Lupin, who was seated between him and Tonks. But why did Hermione sound so shocked? And then he saw her, in her fluffy pink cardigan, sitting next to Professor McGonagall. Delores Umbridge! “You don’t suppose she’s back as High Inquisitor again, do you?” groaned Harry.

“I’d be surprised if the Ministry of Magic has enough clout these days to pull a stunt like that again,” replied Hermione thoughtfully. “Fudge’s kow-towing to Voldemort has cost him and the Ministry their credibility in the wizarding community; and the Hogwarts board of governors have a high degree of autonomy. It will be very interesting to find out what that cow Umbridge is actually doing here.”

The sorting ceremony had commenced. It was conducted by the diminutive Professor Flitwick, who was now Deputy Headmaster. Harry was surprised to see there were as many new students as in previous years; and it looked like all the old students were back as well. He thought a lot parents would not let their children return after the attack on Hogwarts and the death of Professor Dumbledore. But then, with the Ministry of Magic protecting only itself, and with the Death Eaters free to intimidate the wizarding community with their recruitment campaign, most parents probably felt their children were safer here than anywhere else.

When the sorting was over and all the little first years were seated with their new houses, Professor McGonagall rose to address the students. She welcomed them to Hogwarts in her stiff, formal manner — in marked contrast to Professor Dumbledore’s usual good-natured levity. “After the events of last year,” she said severely, “security at Hogwarts has been tightened. The castle gates will be locked at dinner time every evening. Students are not permitted to be outside the castle after that time … under _any_ circumstances. There will be a nine o’clock night-time curfew within the castle. All students must remain in their house common room or dormitory after that time and until seven the following morning. If anyone needs to visit the hospital wing or has any other urgent business during the hours of curfew, they will need to obtain written permission from their head of house or one of their professors — is that understood?” she asked, peering over her glasses and casting a steely gaze upon the assembled students. Harry felt sorry for the little first years; they must be shaking in their shoes.

After a long silence, she continued in a slightly lighter tone. “It is my pleasure to welcome some new members to the Hogwarts teaching staff. Professor Trolove is our new Potions master,” she said, looking in Jason’s direction. He rose briefly to his feet and nodded shyly. Harry noticed he was wearing traditional professor’s robes today rather than his weird Eastern clothes. “And Professor Lupin has kindly consented to return, once more, to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.”

A loud buzz arose from the older students as Lupin rose and smiled genially. They recalled how it had been revealed by Snape, four years ago, that Professor Lupin was, in fact, a werewolf.

“Professor Lupin is also Head of Gryffindor House,” said the Headmistress, silencing the students. “And Professor Sinistra is now Head of Slytheryn House. Our new Transfiguration teacher is Nymphadora Tonks,” she said, nodding in the young witch’s direction. Tonks sprang from her seat and gave a friendly wave to the students, who started giggling and chattering about her pink hair and cool appearance. It was quite a contrast to their former Transfiguration teacher, the staid Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall ignored the babble and returned to her seat. She was about to give the command for the feast to begin when Umbridge began pulling furiously at her sleeve. Apparently, Professor McGonagall had overlooked her — and she was demanding her proper welcome. It was equally evident that McGonagall had no intention of obliging her. Umbridge rose to her feet and began ‘hem hemming’, obviously intent on providing her own welcome. McGonagall immediately rose to her feet, towering threateningly over the squat, toad-like Umbridge who was forced to resume her seat like an unruly student under the Headmistress’ menacing glare.

“Like myself, some of you are probably wondering why Madam Umbridge is, again, with us at Hogwarts. Perhaps she is missing the centaurs,” she said mockingly, raising snorts from the students who knew about Umbridge’s run-in with the creatures in the Forbidden Forest two years ago. Umbridge’s face turned a bright red. “The Ministry of Magic appear eager for me to appoint Madam Umbridge as a Hogwarts professor. Firstly, they attempted to have her appointed to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position under _Educational Decree Number Twenty-two,_ which allows the Ministry to select an appropriate candidate in the event that the position cannot be filled. Fortunately for the students of Hogwarts, the position has been filled admirably — along with those of Potions and Transfiguration, which the Ministry next imagined Madam Umbridge capable of teaching.”

Umbridge was muttering and squeaking as she glared angrily at McGonagall, who ignored her completely.

“The Ministry then requested me to appoint Madam Umbridge as a Hogwarts professor, to teach a new Ministry-concocted subject, imaginatively named: _Ministry of Magic Rules, Regulations, and Guide to Good Civic Conduct._ However, the Hogwarts Charter clearly stipulates that the school curriculum shall be determined by the Headmaster or Headmistress of the day. I, therefore, declined this crude attempt at gross political interference. I also pointed out to Minister Fudge that Madam Umbridge is particularly unsuited to teaching. During her tenure, two years ago in Defence Against the Dark Arts, the end of year results, at all year levels, were the lowest ever recorded, with the exception of a small group of students known as the DA, who resorted to self-instruction to compensate for her abject incompetence,” said McGonagall glaring threatening at Umbridge who continued to get redder and redder, but seemed too intimidated to do more than whimper and whine softly to herself.

“I also questioned the appropriateness of Madam Umbridge teaching students about rules and regulations, given her attempt two years ago to use an Unforgivable Curse on a student at this school, and her admission that she was the one responsible for setting two Dementors upon the same student earlier in the year. Hypocrisy has no place in teaching —”

“Lies, unsubstantiated lies!” cried Umbridge, finally rising to her feet to defend herself. “Potter is a liar! Everyone who reads the _Daily Prophet_ knows about his delusions —”

“But, there were several students in your office at the time, Madam Umbridge,” said McGonagall glaring at her with such force that Umbridge shrank back down into her seat. “Five of them, apart from Potter, have confirmed this —”

“Unsubstantiated, unproven, and unverified allegations!” blustered Umbridge, weakly, not attempting to rise again.

“Two of the witnesses are Hogwarts prefects; a third is the Head Girl of this school. I am certain they would be most willing to give their testimony at a judicial investigation … should you wish to clear your name of these _allegations_.”

Umbridge stared down at the table in front of her, whimpering softly to herself. She had been comprehensively and masterfully humiliated by McGonagall, who had not forgotten how she had been set upon and stunned by Ministry Aurors under Umbridge’s orders in a near-fatal attack which had left her seriously injured in St. Mungo’s. The students from third year up, who remembered Umbridge’s reign of terror, firstly as Hogwarts High Inquisitor and then as Headmistress, were laughing with glee.

“Despite their inability to force Madam Umbridge onto the Hogwarts staff, it does appear that regrettably, the Ministry have the right to provide a liaison officer who may conduct seminars for students on matters considered important by the Ministry — such as _Ministry of Magic Rules, Regulations, and Guide to Good Civic Conduct_. Due to an already full curriculum, I have insisted that attendance at such seminars be on a strictly _voluntary_ basis; and, therefore, invite any interested students to place their name on the parchment pinned to the notice board in the Entrance Hall. I would request all students to address her courteously, as _Madam_ , not _Professor_ , Umbridge, as she is not a Hogwarts professor and carries no authority whatsoever in this school. Well, now that we have cleared up that minor matter, let the feast begin,” said Professor McGonagall, resuming her seat with just the trace of a smug grin on her lips. 


	7. That NEWT-ed Feeling

_**Chapter 7 ~ That NEWT-ed Feeling** _

Harry’s head was reeling as he joined Hermione at the Gryffindor table for dinner at the end of their first day of classes. “This is going to be even worse than OWLS,” groaned Harry. “I’ve already got a week’s worth of homework — and it’s only the first bloody day. Do you think they’re going to give us Time-Turners so we have a hope of getting it all done?” he complained as he loaded his plate with food. The other seventh year Gryffindors all looked similarly shell-shocked — or NEWT-ed to use the Muggle phrase coined by Dean Thomas.

Hermione looked up briefly from the thick Arithmancy text she was reading. “Well, what did you expect, Harry? They told us last year it would be like this, remember? I read through all our NEWT texts several times during the holidays. I don’t suppose you bothered?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on coming back, was I?”

“Listen, Harry,” said Hermione, “forget about homework for now. We have a much bigger problem.”

“What?”

“Ron.”

“Oh, yeah,” sighed Harry. “He’s completely ignoring me; and whenever I try talking to him, he just stalks off in a huff.”

“It’s the same with me,” said Hermione. “I can’t get near him.”

“He sure is angry. I guess that means he must really like you, right?” said Harry with a grin.

Hermione blushed and then said bitterly, “Well if you mean he likes me as in wanting to be with me, I’m really not so sure. I’m beginning to think that Ron’s way of liking me is to become insanely jealous if I so much as look at anyone else. He just takes it for granted that I’ll wait around forever while he decides whether he really wants to be with me or not. Quite frankly, Harry, I’ve just about had enough of the immature git!”

Harry suspected that Hermione might be right about Ron. He just didn’t seem to be growing up — at least not when it came to girls. “Then what are we going to do? We need a pretext to split up; otherwise, you’ll be in danger.”

“Ginny has already explained all that to Ron. But if he’s going to be a total prat and refuse to talk to us, I don’t see how we’re going to arrange it. We have to think it through properly and plan it carefully; otherwise, it won’t be convincing and will ultimately cast suspicion on the main aim of the ruse, which is to convince everyone that you and Ginny are finished. Maybe it would be simpler if I just got myself a boyfriend.”

“You talk as if there are a bunch of guys lined up, just waiting for you to give them the nod,” said Harry with a grin.

“Well, err … as a matter of a fact there are,” said Hermione coyly.

“Really? Who?”

“Well, all the seventh year Ravenclaw wizards for a start,” she said bashfully.

“What? Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein? They’re probably more interested in dragging you off to the library so you can help them with their homework than taking you up to the Astronomy Tower for a snog,” sniggered Harry.

Hermione snorted at Harry’s insensitive choice of words. “Well, if you are suggesting that they are only interested in my brains and not my … well, you know … you may just be wrong. Anthony Goldstein, for one, is, I suspect, very keen on a _more rounded_ relationship than that. I think he’s been keen on me for quite a while; and now that we are Head Boy and Head Girl, we inevitably spend time together. If Ron really isn’t going to help you and me out of our predicament, then I may have to start dating Anthony.”

Harry groaned. This was turning into a nightmare. If Hermione dated Anthony Goldstein, Ron would go ballistic. The last thing Harry needed was for the friendship between the three of them to disintegrate in their final year — a year that was shaping up to be the most crucial and difficult of his life.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“I thought we might start with something a tad challenging today, just to kick off your NEWT year at a realistic level.” Professor Trolove was dressed like a Hogwarts professor, but that was where the similarity ended. He was leaning casually back on the chair behind his desk, waving his wand above his head, sending a complex array of ingredients from various cupboards, shelves, jars, and pots into neatly arranged piles on the students’ work benches.

“Welcome to NEWT Potions. You have a demanding year ahead of you and a difficult task today, which is why I have saved you the time of assembling your ingredients. Please gather around them in pairs.” Harry was relived he would not have to work with Ron, and immediately sat next to Hermione, who noticed Harry had a new copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.

“For what is Wolfsbane Potion used?” asked Professor Trolove. “Hermione?” he added, without even bothering to see who had put their hand up. He did not need magic to know that hers would be the first one in the air.

“Wolfsbane Potion is used to prevent the extremely dangerous dementia which accompanies the transformation from human into werewolf, at the full moon. While the potion does not cure lycanthropy, it renders the transformed werewolf completely harmless to others. It was invented by Belby Damocles, and is considered one of the most difficult potions to brew … um … it’s not actually in _Advanced Potion-Making_ , sir,” said Hermione, scanning the index of her Potions book anxiously as she spoke.

“No,” said Professor Trolove with a smile. “I dare say it’s considered too difficult for school students, but then there’s nothing like a little challenge to sharpen the mind.” He tapped his wand to his desk and two long sheets of parchment appeared next to each pile of ingredients. “The instructions for preparing Wolfsbane Potion; at the end of class, please fold them and insert them into the back of your Potions books. You will notice that the complete process takes around a fortnight. We shall only be attempting the first stage today.” 

Hermione was all concentration and completely absorbed in the preparation of the potion. Harry had little to do but identify and pass her the ingredients and attend to the fire under their caldron. Harry was struck by the difference in style between Professor Trolove and their two former Potions masters. Professor Slughorn used to sit lazily back and let them get on with their work, without taking much interest until the final stages. Snape, on the other hand, often took way too much interest, particularly in Harry’s work and that of his fellow Gryffindors, like Neville. He relished intimidating and wrong-footing them, finding fault with their work, and inventing spurious excuses for deducting house points unfairly.

In contrast, Professor Trolove spent his time walking about and helping the students, giving them advice and assistance at particularly crucial moments; even occasionally waving his wand to reverse a mistake. He was particularly attentive to Hermione and seemed genuinely impressed with her work. At the end of the lesson, he asked her to leave their cauldron, rather than emptying and cleaning it. When the bell rang for lunch, he congratulated everyone on a very good effort. As Ron was about to leave, Professor Trolove called him back to help get the classroom cleaned up and ready for the afternoon class. Ron was a little surprised, but he stayed behind as requested.

“Just a pretext,” said Jason once the door was shut. Unused ingredients flew back to the shelves and cupboards as spills and slops disappeared. “I thought we might have a quick chat,” he said, sitting on one of the benches.

“Err … about what?” asked Ron uncertainly, leaning back on a bench.

“Hermione.”

“What about Hermione,” asked Ron guardedly. The last thing he wanted was for Trolove to be privy to his confusion of thoughts and feelings about Hermione, right now. Damn it! He probably already knew it all with the way he could get into your head.

Jason smiled. “No, I have not been intruding on your private thoughts and feelings about Hermione — or any one else. I make a point of respecting peoples’ privacy and do not engage in capricious voyeurism. However, I have picked up on the rather convoluted plot designed to convince everyone that Ginny and Harry are no longer together. I am not sure if it was such a great idea; but, now that it’s been started, it needs to be completed as planned. I understand its successful conclusion requires your involvement.”

“Yeah, well no one asked me if I wanted to be involved,” snapped Ron moodily. “No one told me anything, they just —”

“Ron, when I was your age, Lily Evans and I had to make a terrible personal sacrifice for the good of others. Whatever your feelings about Hermione, you can do this. Remember … her safety, and that of your sister, might depend upon it. You just have to pretend to be with her, just for a few weeks. Is that such a huge sacrifice?”

“No,” muttered Ron, feeling rather small.

“Good,” said Jason, smiling as he rose from the bench and clapped Ron on the shoulder, and led him to the door. “Put on a good act. You should even get an opportunity to vent your spleen on Harry … enjoy yourself. But please try to keep it verbal.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“What we need,” said Hermione softly, “is something very noisy and very public.” She was sitting in the corner of the Gryffindor common room with Harry’s arm draped conspicuously around her shoulder. Ron was sitting opposite them. He had finally spoken to them about getting the last part of Ginny’s plan over with. He had not mentioned his conversation with Jason. He was not feeling overly friendly either, not with Harry and Hermione snuggling up like that — even if it was supposed to be an act.

“How about crossed owls?” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“What?” asked Harry and Ron.

“Well, I’m always up way before you two on a Saturday. I like to have an early breakfast and head for the library. By the time you two make it to breakfast, I’m probably onto my second or third assignment. So how about: while you are having breakfast, you each receive an owl, but you are so preoccupied talking about something — I know, Quidditch, obviously — that you open each other’s message by mistake.”

“Huh?” said Ron. 

“The owls will be from me. The one to you, Harry will say I’m way behind with my Arithmancy assignment, so I won’t be able to meet you like we planned. The one to you, Ron, will say to meet me behind greenhouse three at eleven o’clock, but don’t let Harry see you. After _accidentally_ reading Ron’s message, Harry, you grab yours from Ron’s hand, read it, and then start ripping into him.”

Harry snorted. “You should have been in Slytherin, Hermione; that’s pretty damn devious.”

Hermione was looking rather pleased with herself, but Ron seemed unhappy. “Hey, Harry’s not going to hit me is he?”

“No, of course not!” insisted Hermione. Then sounding every inch the Head Girl, she added, “And please remember: You are a school prefect, Ron. Just some very loud abuse and name calling will be adequate … I am sure you’ll think of something suitable to say.”

“Err … and what … err, you know, err, what am I … I mean, err … we, supposed to do after that?” stammered Ron.

“Who, you and Harry, or you and me?” asked Hermione archly.

Ron went red. “Well, you and me….”

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “I was hoping you would remember something from last year … you did get lots of practice with Lavender, as I recall.”

“But … but, that was … different,” spluttered Ron.

“How, exactly?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow dangerously.

“Well, I mean … we were, well you know … we were really together. It wasn’t just an act or something.”

“Look, Ron, let’s try to keep this simple, shall we? Just carry on doing exactly what Harry’s been doing all week … just pretend!” she said hastily, getting to her feet and grabbing her book bag. “And try to remember to be at breakfast by ten o’clock tomorrow. Do you think you can manage that?” she asked, petulantly, before storming out of the common room, leaving Ron staring open-mouthed in her wake.

“What’s a matter with her?” he asked, turning to Harry.

Harry shook his head; it was hopeless. Ron was never going to get it … and there was no way he was going to try to explain — or get involved. Voldemort was more than enough for him to deal with. “Oh, by the way, I’m officially quitting as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I’ll play Seeker if you want me to, but you’re captain.”

It was a measure of just how upset Ron was about Hermione, that Harry’s attempt at changing the subject — even to Quidditch, and the prospect of becoming captain — did not immediately succeed. “So you think you can pass on the captaincy when you’ve finished with it — just like you’re passing on Hermione — as if they’re both your own personal property, do you?” he demanded angrily.

People were beginning to look at them. “Keep your voice down, Ron. I have too much on this year to do a decent job as captain, and I’m not giving it to you — but I’ll be voting for you along with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so get used to it … captain.”

“That’ll look a bit strange, won’t it? You, voting for me after the big fight we’re going to have tomorrow morning?”

“No, it won’t,” said Harry. “Some things are more important than girls and petty jealousies — like winning the Quidditch Cup for example — right?”

“Right,” said Ron, finally relaxing.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When Hermione’s owls arrived at breakfast the following morning, Ron looked alarmed, mainly because he had only just started eating. “Let’s leave them till we’ve had a decent feed,” he said, piling more eggs and sausages onto his plate and reaching for a couple more slices of toast. Harry nodded. They took the messages from the owls and left them, unopened, on the table. Harry looked up to see Ginny give him a quick, knowing glance from the other end of the table. Fortunately, being a Saturday morning, the tables were not full, and there was no one sitting close to them.

When he had eaten all he could, Harry turned to Ron and whispered, “Ready to roll, mate?”

Ron downed a final piece of toast and nodded reluctantly as he reached for the message with Harry’s name on it and began fumbling with the ribbon.

Harry meanwhile, had opened and read Ron’s message. He held his breath to make his face go red, and grabbed the other message from Ron before he could finish reading it.

“Huh?” said Ron stupidly, but convincingly. “Why-dya grab —”

“Because that’s my message, you _bastard_!” yelled Harry jumping to his feet, with every eye in the Great Hall now fixed on him. “And this one’s for you — they’re both from Hermione! Unluckily for the pair of you, I picked up the wrong message, and your dirty little secret is out!” he shouted, waving the other parchment in Ron’s face.

“Hey, give it here!” said Ron, jumping up and making a grab for the parchment, which Harry held out of reach.

“Why don’t I read it to you? You double-crossing back-stabber! _Dear_ Ron, meet me at the _usual_ place, behind greenhouse three, at eleven. Make sure Harry doesn’t see you sneak off. _Kisses_ , Hermione!” yelled Harry. “And this is the one she sent me,” he said, reading from the parchment in his other hand. “Dear Harry, sorry, but I’m way behind with my Arithmancy assignment, so I won’t be able to meet you like we planned….”

Ron didn’t know which way to look. “Um … are you sure she didn’t just write the names the wrong way around on the outside?” asked Ron innocently.

“Nice try, you slimy snake — you should have been in Slytherin — both or you! The same names are also _in_ the messages; and I’ve never sneaked off to greenhouse three with Hermione, so you can stop playing stupid right now — not that it needs much of an act on your part! How long have the two of you been carrying on behind my back?” demanded Harry, furiously poking Ron hard in the chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ron in a characteristically unconvincing attempt at feigning outraged innocence, as he shoved Harry backwards, against he table. “Why don’t you keep you hands to yourself, Potter?”

“I suppose you and Hermione were sneaking about together the whole time we were at the Burrow, were you?”

“And what if we were?” yelled Ron. “It’s just typical bloody Harry-up-himself-Potter, the _Chosen_ gift to witches! First you’re carrying on with my sister; then you dump her and grab Hermione as if she’s your own personal property!”

Ron was putting on a very convincing show, and it didn’t require any great acting ability, Harry realised. The feelings behind his words were entirely genuine. 

“Well some friends you two turned out to be after all these years,” countered Harry angrily. “You’re nothing but a back-stabbing, lying _weasel_ , and she’s a two-timing, cheating, bloody b —”

“Witch!”

Harry and Ron looked up, in surprise. Neither of them had noticed Professor Trolove approaching them from the staff table.

“Witch … is the word I believe you are looking for, Potter,” said Professor Trolove casually. Then gently, but firmly he grabbed them by the shoulders and escorted them towards the door of the Great Hall. “One of things I treasured most in my student days at Hogwarts was a quiet, leisurely Saturday morning breakfast. I was enjoyably reliving that pleasure this morning when it was rudely interrupted by this unseemly fracas. If you could be so good as to sort out the schedule for your sordid little _ménage a trois_ in private, it would be greatly appreciated. And please remember, there are first year students present. Do try to avoid using language they should not understand,” he said with just the hint of a grin before shunting them out of the Great Hall. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry and Ron’s performance was a great success. By dinner time, everyone who had not witnessed it in the Great Hall that morning knew all about it. Harry expected to get plenty of stares, but what he didn’t expect was the very obvious and meaningful glances from many of the older witches as he entered the Great Hall. Harry Potter was an enigma to many of them. He was a celebrity whose name most of them had known from childhood … but not someone they might have ever hoped to know — or date. Well, not until now. But, his much talked-about relationships, first with Ginny Weasley and then Hermione Granger, revealed that Harry Potter was no different from any other teenage wizard — and that he was very obviously interested in witches. And, clearly, there were many witches who were very interested in him — especially since he was obviously available, and possibly in need of some tenderness and consolation after the trauma of his recent distressing break-ups. Harry could read it on their faces and groaned to himself as he looked for a seat. Damn it! This was getting difficult. He’d been avoiding Ginny, who, he noticed, was sitting with Neville Longbottom; and he couldn’t sit next to Ron and Hermione either. Parvati and Lavender obligingly squeezed up to make room for him, batting their eyelids blatantly. Harry shuddered and found himself a spot amongst the first years who were struck dumb at finding the famous Harry Potter sitting in their midst.

Harry was just putting some roast potatoes onto his plate when he heard a loud “Hem-hemming” coming from the staff table. Looking up, he saw Umbridge standing behind Professor McGonagall’s chair, attempting to read an announcement from a parchment in her hand. It was the first time Umbridge had shown her ugly face in the Great Hall since her humiliation at the Welcoming Feast.

“What on earth do you think you are doing, Madam Umbridge?” McGonagall asked severely, turning her head towards the short, squat witch, without troubling to rise.

“I have an announcement to make, hem hem —”

“I make the announcements here, Madam Umbridge. I may, on occasion, see fit to grant permission to a visitor to address the school,” said McGonagall condescendingly. “But this is not such an occasion — and you do not have my permission. Oh, and should you wish to take your meals in the Great Hall, you may not sit at the staff table; you are not, after all, a member of the Hogwarts staff.”

“But guests are always invited to sit at the staff table, said Umbridge, moving towards Professor Trelawney’s almost permanently empty chair.”

“Yes, that is true,” said McGonagall. “But you are not a guest — no one invited you to join us. You are a most _unpleasant_ imposition, forced on us by Fudge, for the rather transparent purpose of spying. Not a single student has put their name down for your seminars. So why, are you still here at Hogwarts, if not as a Ministry mole?”

Umbridge, who had forgotten about her announcement, was determined to salvage some dignity and assert her position by sitting at the staff table. She quickly pulled out the absent Professor Trelawney’s chair and sat down with smug grin.

“Hagrid,” said Professor McGonagall casually, “Madam Umbridge appears to be in some confusion regarding the seating arrangements. Please be good enough to escort her to the special table provided for _Ministry moles_ ,” she said, indicating a small table with a single chair that had been placed against the wall between the Slytherin table and the staff table.

“Pleasure, Professor McGonagall, ma’am,” said Hagrid, rising from his seat with obvious delight.

“And I would strongly advise you against reaching for your wand, Madam Umbridge,” said McGonagall, pointing her own wand menacingly at the squat little witch. “There might be a competition to see who can hex you first … and worst, among the many of us who witnessed your abuse of power at this school two years ago.”

Umbridge squeaked as she gingerly removed her hand from her robes and looked up fearfully. Hagrid seized her by the scruff of the neck and held her high in the air, kicking and screaming like a naughty child to the delight of both students and staff. As soon as he had deposited her in the chair at her lonely little table, she jumped up and scurried along the wall and out of the hall as quickly as he little legs would carry her. It took several minutes for the laughter in the Great Hall to die down. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The following evening, the Ministry of Magic upped the ante. As the students sat down to their Sunday evening meal, Umbridge, accompanied by Deputy Minister of Magic Weasley, strode into the Great Hall towards the staff table, with an escort of six Ministry Aurors, their wands drawn.

When they reached the staff table, Professor McGonagall briefly looked up from her meal, fixed Percy with a gimlet eye, and said in the same tone of voice she might have used when he was a little first year, “Tell them to put their wands away, Weasley.”

Percy bridled at being talked down to by McGonagall. Puffing himself up and attempting to look dignified and important, he replied, “As Deputy Minister of Magic, I am entitled to an armed protection squad wherever I go.”

“For heaven’s sake, Weasley, you are in a school — these are school children, not Death Eaters. Stop being absurd!”

“The Ministry of Magic places the utmost importance on security; we consider —”

“You consider nothing but your own security,” said McGonagall, suddenly waving her wand and transfiguring the six Aurors into gerbils, which timidly scurried under the staff table.

“I must protest, in the strongest language —” blustered Percy, shocked.

“To what do we owe the _pleasure_ of this visit? Hurry up, Weasley, and state your business. You have interrupted my evening meal, and I am most displeased,” said McGonagall, glaring at him angrily.

“Now, see here,” said Percy, attempting to assert his authority. “On behalf of the Ministry of Magic I am here to protest at the shameful treatment Madam Umbridge has received at Hogwarts. She is a very senior member of the Ministry —”

“Come, come, Weasley, everyone in this room — even your gerbils — know that the only requirement to rise high in the Ministry these days is the ability to bend low and lick Fudge’s boots.”

“How dare —” began Percy, his face completely red.

“And indeed, what better proof could there be than a sycophant, such as yourself, being appointed Deputy Minister of Magic?” While Percy was spluttering incoherently, McGonagall continued. “But since you have raised the subject of Madam Umbridge, perhaps you would care to explain the why she is still with us?”

“If you recall,” said Percy officiously, attempting to regain his composure. “The Ministry wishes to have the most important subject of _Ministry of Magic Rules, Regulations, and Guide to Good Civic Conduct_ taught to students by a competent and duly authorised person.”

“Yes, Weasley, I do recall. However, attendance at Madam Umbridge’s seminars is strictly voluntary; and as no one has volunteered to attend, there _are_ no seminars. So, I repeat: Why is she still here?”

“Yes, well, the response has been, err … a little disappointing,” mumbled Percy.

“No, Weasley, the response has been _non-existent_.”

“The Ministry has the right to appoint —”

“Enough of this ridiculous pretence, Weasley; clearly, she is here as a Ministry mole.”

“I deny it … categorically!” exclaimed Percy, turning red. “And, furthermore, I have come to make an announcement … the announcement which she, herself, was so rudely refused permission to make in this hall, yesterday evening: The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has personally vested in Dolores Jane Umbridge honorary powers of Ministry Auror. As such, she has the power to detain, interrogate, and arrest any student _or_ member of staff, as she sees fit.” Percy was now looking very smug indeed, and Umbridge, still standing beside him, was wearing a superior, self-satisfied grin.

“I think that most unwise, Weasley,” counselled McGonagall forebodingly. “I wish to have it clearly understood that I take no responsibility, whatsoever, for her personal safety,” she added menacingly, wiping the smiles from both their faces.

“Are you threatening a senior member of the Ministry of Magic?” demanded Percy.

“Good heavens! No, never,” replied McGonagall, smiling innocently. “But, you must appreciate that spying is a very dangerous business, especially when people know you are spying on them … and particularly when they _loathe_ and _detest_ you. There are many at this school — staff and students alike — who remember the unprincipled way Madam Umbridge behaved here two years ago. I am, unfortunately, unable to guarantee that there are not those amongst them who may seek revenge. This is not a threat, Weasley … merely an observation on human nature.”

“I deny that Dolores is a spy,” asserted Percy. “The allegation is quite absurd. She is here to … err, to communicate the crucial and vital policies of the Ministry to the students of Hogwarts.”

“And what, precisely, are those policies?” asked McGonagall sarcastically.

“Détente and peaceful coexistence,” said Percy, feeling himself on surer ground now. “And, I might add: Minister Fudge has met with considerable successful in pursuing these initiatives.”

“Utter twaddle!” spat the Headmistress contemptuously. “His only success has been in worming his way back in as Minister of Magic and turning the Ministry into a Cornelius Fudge self-preservation society. His policies are nothing but a transparent ploy at appeasement — so that You-Know-Who does not murder by him like he murdered his predecessor.”

“I must object to this public utterance of libellous and unsubstantiated allegations!” cried Percy. “There is no evidence, _whatsoever_ , that You-Know-Who, or anyone associated with him, was in any way connected with the death of the previous Minister of Magic. Investigations into the circumstances surrounding his death are ongoing and, as yet, inconclusive. We are following several promising lines of enquiry and must not jump to hasty conclusions or give currency to the sort of subversive slander being bandied about by illegal organisations and enemies of the wizarding world. It may very well transpire that the previous Minister died of entirely natural causes. A team of mediwizards is currently reviewing his health records from his birth, onwards, looking for evidence —”

“Unmitigated claptrap!” snorted McGonagall. “Hundreds of witches and wizards saw the Dark Mark hovering over the Ministry of Magic — you must have seen it yourself — what is the point of this ridiculous pretence?”

“Err … détente requires the Ministry to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and, err, encourage all parties to act in good faith … and, as I said before, these policies are verifiably working. There have been no serious incidents —”

“No serious incidents?” exclaimed McGonagall incredulously. “Not two weeks ago, the Hogwarts Express was attacked by a group of Death Eaters accompanied by a giant and several dozen Dementors. What exactly does the Ministry call that, if not a serious incident?”

“An unsubstantiated allegation,” blurted Percy weakly. “The Ministry receives these kinds of unsubstantiated allegations all the time. Unfortunately we do not currently have the resources to investigate —”

“Because all your Aurors are busy protecting Fudge, yourself, and all the other frightened little bunnies at the Ministry!”

“It is grossly irresponsible to make unproven accusations of this kind. It only leads to disharmony and provokes … err, people.”

“Weasley, you see before you several hundred students who were _on_ the Hogwarts Express when it was attacked; who personally witnessed it; who saw the giant, the Death Eaters, and the Dementors. Yet you stand here, claiming that what they saw and heard with their own eyes and ears did not happen because the Ministry has not investigated it, and officially pronounced it to have happened. It is crystal clear that the Ministry will never acknowledge the attack, just as it refuses to acknowledge the murder of Scrimgeour by You-Know-Who, because it might upset him, and, more to the point, cause him to similarly dispose of Fudge. How on earth do you expect the Ministry to carry any credibility when it denies the blatantly obvious?”

Percy um-ed and ah-ed, his face very red, as he shuffled about; shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before attempting to reply. “Well, as I understand it, the intention of the attack — err … if indeed there was such an attack — and I would like to state categorically, _on the record_ , that as far as the Ministry is concerned there is no evidence, whatsoever, that such an attack ever occurred. Err … however, if this purported attack, did in fact occur, it was not an act of aggression aimed at the students of this school, but, merely an attempt by a … err, certain political grouping, to, err, engage in dialogue with a particular individual — an antisocial troublemaker — by the name of Harry Potter.”

Percy’s pronouncement was greeted by gasps of incredulity and howls of derision, but he carried on quickly, attempting to justify his absurd assertion. “The Minister is of the opinion that much of the bad behaviour attributed to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his political associates is in fact the result of gratuitous provocation by antisocial elements, in general, and Harry Potter, in particular.”

Professor McGonagall snorted in disbelief. “Are you are referring to _provocations_ such as the one Potter gave You-Know-Who when he was one year old … when You-Know-Who murdered his parents and attempted to murder him? And don’t bother to waffle on about unsubstantiated allegations and Ministry investigations; the facts are a matter of historical record and are published in a number of authoritative and highly-respected history books. Congratulations, Weasley, you have succeeded in totally demolishing any last smidgen of credibility the Ministry of Magic might have possessed. You may go now; please take your vermin with you,” she said dismissively, resuming her meal. 

Percy was speechless. McGonagall had utterly humiliated him and the Ministry. “Come, Dolores,” he said turning his back on Professor McGonagall, attempting to maintain a dignified expression as he strode briskly towards the back of the hall. Umbridge, with her short legs, was forced to run in a most unseemly manner to keep up with him, while attempting to avoid tripping over the gerbils, who were scurrying behind the Deputy Minister. They exited the Great Hall unceremoniously to the sound of raucous laughter. 


	8. Taking Umbridge

_**Chapter 8 ~ Taking Umbridge** _

Harry saw no more of Umbridge. She didn’t dare to show her ugly face in the Great Hall again, and Harry wondered if she was still at Hogwarts. If she was, he had to be careful. He didn’t trust her, and with the special powers Fudge had given her, she might try something. Unfortunately, he could not talk to Hermione or Ron about it, as he was supposed to be feuding with them. Their pretence of being together was not very convincing … well, they did spend a lot of time together, but it looked like all they did was argue. It looked pretty funny sometimes, seeing them sitting together in the Gryffindor common room, Ron with his arm around Hermione’s shoulder, and the pair of them going at it hammer and tongs. Harry tried to avoid the Gryffindor common room as much as possible these days because he inevitably found himself surrounded by girls. Lavender and Pravati were the worst; whenever he sat in an armchair, they would immediately materialise, one on each arm, posing provocatively and almost sitting in his lap, batting their eyelids idiotically. How Ron could have put up with Lavender for so long in sixth year was quite beyond him.

Then there was Ginny — he was also supposed to be on the outs with her. He really missed her. Their plans of sneaking off under his Invisibility Cloak had so far come to nothing. Ginny was very visibly with Neville, and Harry was not sure that Neville was just acting, either. If he was, it was a very convincing act. Neville had confided nothing in Harry about it being a charade, and Harry wasn’t going to be the first one to bring up the subject. And he couldn’t ask Ginny or Hermione about it because he wasn’t supposed to be talking to either of them. All-in-all, he was finding it very frustrating, and feeling quite isolated and alone these days.

It was almost two weeks into the term already, and although he’d had his first duelling practice with Lupin and Tonks a few days ago, he had not yet started training with Jason; he was getting impatient. There was nothing to do but wait … wait and try to keep up with all the schoolwork which just seemed to pile higher and higher. He really missed having Hermione to help him and read through his assignments and correct them for him. At least Ron had Hermione’s help, or could have, if they stopped arguing long enough.

Harry had taken to sitting with the younger students at mealtimes; it was the only way to avoid Lavender, Pravati, and the other Gryffindor girls who were constantly trying to ambush him. One evening while he was eating, an origami-like bird fluttered gracefully down beside his plate. The first year sitting next to him tried to pick it up, but it fluttered out of reach. Harry picked it up with ease. 

“Must be for me,” he said with a grin. All the little first years were looking very interested. Obviously it was a message; but Harry decided to wait until he was somewhere more private to open it. Maybe it was from Ginny, he thought hopefully as he put it in his pocket. Or perhaps Hermione, he reflected, remembering how fond she was of conjuring birds.

Harry waited until he was out of the Great Hall to unfold the origami bird. It was a message from Jason: _“Harry, come to the Potions classroom after dinner tonight. If anyone asks you awkward questions, say you are serving detention with me, J.”_ Harry was excited; at last something was happening. He felt as far away as ever from figuring out how he was going to defeat Voldemort. Well, maybe tonight he would make a start. Harry headed down the staircase to the dungeons. Just as he was turning down the corridor towards the Potions classroom, he heard someone mutter a spell from behind him. The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back and looking up into Umbridge’s ugly, gloating, toad-like face.

“Well, well, well. It looks like I’ve caught myself public enemy number one. Get to your feet, Potter, and come with me,” she said, grinning smugly. “We’re going to have a pleasant little chat in my office, over a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me what you were doing sneaking around in the dungeons — amongst other things. I’m sure you know a great many things of interest to the Ministry.”

Harry rose unsteadily to his feet. He found his hands magically bound behind his back. Umbridge pointed her wand menacingly at his chest. He had no doubt that Umbridge’s cup of tea would be heavily laced with Veritaserum. Damn it, he was trapped. Umbridge might even be planning on spiriting him away to the Ministry of Magic. Fudge would love to hand him over to Voldemort as a peace offering. Umbridge was looking very, very pleased with herself. This could not be good.

Suddenly, from nowhere, Jason appeared behind Umbridge, who immediately crumpled in a heap on the stone floor. Harry found his hands were free. 

“I was expecting something like this,” said Jason, casually. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her. Please wait in my classroom. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” He touched his foot to Umbridge’s shoulder, and the two of them disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Harry entered the Potions classroom and closed the door behind him. He immediately drew his wand and looked around alertly; he could hear someone moving about, but the classroom was empty. Cautiously he crept towards the half-open door at the other end of the room. He remembered Snape had his office and personal potions laboratory in there. It was where he kept his private stores — which they had burgled in their second year, for the Polyjuice Potion ingredients. Carefully peering around past the door he saw someone bent over a cauldron, stirring.

“Hermione! What are you doing here?” asked Harry in surprise.

“Hi, Harry,” said Hermione, looking up briefly. “Jason said you were coming. But he suddenly disappeared.”

“Yeah, and luckily for me, too. Umbridge snuck up on me and stunned me, just down the corridor; she must have been following me. She was about to march me off to her office when Jason appeared out of nowhere and got her. Then he and Umbridge just disappeared. Hermione, I thought it wasn’t possible to Apparate at Hogwarts?”

“It’s not,” she said, while continuing her stirring. “He uses a different kind of magic — I have no idea what — which allows him to pass through magical wards, just like when he visited us at the Burrow.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry, sitting down in an old wooden chair. “He said he’d be back soon. I wonder what he’s going to do with Umbridge? Do you think he’ll kill her?”

“Of course not; it’s not his style,” replied Hermione. “I just hope it’s something very unpleasant, she added with a grin.

“What are you making?” asked Harry.

“Wolfsbane Potion.”

“Wow, I thought it was really, really difficult.”

“Well, yes, it is. That’s why Jason had us attempting the first stage of brewing it in Potions. He wanted to find out if I was capable of helping him with it.”

“Really?” asked Harry, impressed.

“His magical power does not help him much when it comes to Potions; and although he was very good at it when he was at Hogwarts, he hasn’t done much since. He’s never made Wolfsbane. In fact, the number of witches and wizards who have succeeded in brewing it can be counted on one hand.”

“And he thinks you could join them?” asked Harry, grinning.

“Well, he tested our potion from class and said it was perfect for the first stage. That’s what’s in this cauldron; he asked me to keep working on it. It’s a long and complicated process; almost a fortnight of continuous work. He thinks I might do a better job of brewing it than him,” she said, blushing. “But he’s supervising me. He has some magical way of testing the potion at each stage that I’ve never heard of. So far, it’s on target for the full moon next week.”

“So have you been coming down here at night?”

“Sometimes; or I pop in at lunch time, to check on it or add another ingredient.”

“I hope Ron knows … otherwise he might think you’re sneaking off with someone — you know how, err, jealous he can get.”

“Well, of course I told him. And believe me, I know exactly how jealous that immature git can get. What do you think we’re arguing about all the time? Every time I have a Head Boy and Girl meeting, or even a two-minute conversation with Anthony, Ron behaves as if it’s a lovers’ tryst. And when I work with Anthony or any of the other Ravenclaws on an assignment in the library, he gets all surly and sulks.”

“Just the Ravenclaw wizards, or the witches as well?” asked Harry with a grin.

“I don’t have much to do with the Ravenclaw witches — they’re a studious bunch, but not particularly brilliant. Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner are the three brightest seventh years, so —”

“After you, Hermione,” said Harry with a grin. “And from what you say, they are after you — aren’t they?”

“Well, my _supposedly_ being with Ron has dampened their ardour, somewhat — not that Ron would notice. I sometimes work with them on assignments, and just seeing me with anyone makes Ron jealous — he’d be jealous if he caught me talking with Nearly Headless Nick, the puerile prat.”

“Well, err, maybe you should take it as a compliment, Hermione. I mean it shows how much —”

“… of a juvenile jerk, he is,” finished Hermione angrily. “He can never decide whether he wants to be with me or not; and quite frankly, I don’t want to be with someone who gets jealous for no reason and who throws a tantrum whenever I go near another wizard. All he wants to do is pretend we’re together — not actually … err, you know, err, be together. He’s driving me crazy, Harry. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep up the pretence.”

Harry didn’t know what to say; it certainly looked hopeless. Hermione turned her attention back to the cauldron, and Harry gazed idly around the room at all the jars filled with strange objects. He didn’t want to think too much about what they were, or might once have been. Harry jumped when Jason suddenly appeared no more than two feet in front of him.

“I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that,” said Harry. “Well, not unless I’ve just been hexed by Umbridge. So what did you do with her?”

“I left her deep in the Forbidden Forest without a wand or any recollection of what she was doing tonight after dinner.”

“Do you think she’ll be safe?” asked Hermione.

“Probably,” replied Jason, seemingly unconcerned, “as long as she stays away from the Acromantulas. But I left her a long way from their colony.”

“Pity,” said Harry.

“And how is my star Potions pupil getting on?” asked Jason, staring fixedly into Hermione’s cauldron. It almost seemed as if he were in a trance. “Ah, perfect, Hermione. I think you are going to be every bit as brilliant at the art of potion-making as Harry’s mother.”

Then turning back to Harry, he said, “We’re going to dive right into it tonight, Harry We don’t have time to waste. Hermione, since you are finished with the Wolfsbane for tonight, you can sit in with us and do the exercises with Harry, if you like. But please understand that I have to give him my complete attention.” Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Jason glanced over towards his heavy wooden desk, and it disappeared to be replaced by what looked like three large squishy Muggle bean bags — the sort of thing Aunt Petunia wouldn’t allow anywhere near her house. Jason sat cross-legged on one and said, “Sit comfortably in a position you can maintain without moving for some time, Harry.”

Harry massaged the big bean bag until he got it into a good shape to support his back, while Hermione was putting away the potions things and covering the cauldron.

“Tonight, I’m going to teach you a very basic meditation exercise that is used in some eastern traditions to still the mind and focus it. While it is very simple, properly practiced, it can take you a very long way. Close your eyes and focus your attention on your nostrils; observe the sensation of the air passing in and out as you breathe. Don’t try to regulate your breathing, let the body breathe as fast or slow, as deep or shallow, as it pleases. Just observe the sensation of the air entering and leaving the body.”

At first, Harry thought it was easy, but in less than a minute he found his mind straying. Each time, Jason would say, “Attention!” and he would return his attention to the sensation of the air going in and out. Jason was obviously monitoring his mind which was a great benefit, because he would catch the moment Harry’s mind began to wander and bring it straight back to the breathing. After some time, Harry found his attention remained effortlessly on the breathing. He lost track of time. It seemed as if he was breathing very slowly. He felt completely calm; it was a blissful feeling. Apart from the sensation of the air at the nostrils, he had no awareness of his body.

“Who is aware of the breathing?” asked Jason softly. “Don’t look for a verbal answer; don’t try to understand or define it; just feel it … just be it.”

Harry had a sudden sense of being aware of the breathing; yet it wasn’t him — he wasn’t there at all. There was just the feeling of awareness, of knowingness; and there was nothing else. No Jason, no Harry, just this huge, immense sense of awareness that seemed to go on and on forever. He was not separate from it; he was part of it or it was part of him … he was It!

“Open your eyes, Harry.” Jason was smiling at him, gently nodding. “That is the _Source_. You sensed it too, Hermione.”

Harry saw Hermione smiling radiantly from the other bean bag. He supposed he looked the same. He had never felt such peace, contentment, such …

“Love,” said Jason, finishing his thought. “We can feel the _Source_ , but we cannot define it or describe it. The closest word for how it feels is _Love_.”

Harry and Hermione both nodded; that was exactly what it felt like. Neither of them wanted to speak or do anything that might break the marvellous spell. To Harry, Jason’s office looked different. Everything was somehow alive. Even the chairs and the stone walls seemed to pulsate with a kind of energy … a life-force.

“The _Source_ is in everything. It _is_ everything,” said Jason. “When you connect to the _Source_ , you connect to the whole universe, which is why everything looks so vibrant and alive. It is natural to want to hold on to this wonderful feeling, to try not to lose it. But it will gradually fade as you resume your normal activities … although not completely. Each time you do the meditation exercise, each time you touch the _Source_ , it will become stronger and more enduring. Eventually, it will remain with you, and be accessible whenever you wish to touch it.”

Harry and Hermione remained silent, luxuriating in the warm afterglow. Jason continued, “When you touch the _Source_ , you have immense magical power. You have no need of a wand or an incantation. You simply will the magic to happen and it does. For example: Harry, try levitating that large oak cupboard. Hermione, you can try the bookshelf. No wands, no spells, just will them to slowly rise up to touch the ceiling, nice and straight, so that nothing is disturbed or falls.”

The cupboard and the bookshelf rose smoothly upwards until they nudged the ceiling. “Very good, and now gently back down again.” Harry and Hermione returned them to their places.

“What you just did is exactly the same thing, the same magic you learned in first year Charms with the Levitation Charm, Wingardium Leviosa. Of course, it was only a small feather you were levitating then, and you used your wand and the incantation. A wand is a very powerful means of focussing and directing magical power. The incantation also focuses magical power. Being uttered century upon century probably imbues it with a certain vibration or energy. More importantly, it gives the caster confidence that the spell, when correctly performed, will work — because it has always worked.

“But wands and incantations are unnecessary; they are merely magical aids. The crucial factor is belief or faith. The one thing all religions and _non-scientific belief systems_ have in common is their own clearly-defined set of beliefs. If people believe, if they have faith, then miracles, magic, whatever, can happen. They all have their rituals, prayers, chants, sacred objects or practices, and so on, just as we have wands and incantations. These things all, no doubt, act similarly, to focus mental energy and give people confidence that their practices will work. Once you understand the truly awesome power of the human mind and learn to connect directly to the _Source_ , you can dispense with wands, incantations, prayers, chants, and all the rest of it.”

“That power,” said Hermione, no longer able to contain herself, “comes from the _Source_ itself, doesn’t it?”

“Of course. We have that power because we are part of the _Source_ , as you both experienced tonight. Having experienced it, you now know it; and that knowledge will give you the confidence, the faith, to use the power directly. You still have a lot more work to do, to be able to connect to the _Source_ at will, but you have made an excellent start tonight. Practice the meditation exercise on your own. Now you know how to bring your mind back to the breathing, you can do it without me reminding you. When you notice the mind stray, immediately bring it back, until eventually it remains fixed there. Try to do the meditation as you lie in bed each night before falling asleep. You will awaken wonderfully refreshed in the morning.”

“Goodness, it’s almost ten o’clock,” said Hermione, “an hour after curfew.”

“Not to worry,” said Jason. “After your run-in with Umbridge tonight, Harry, we need to find a secret route for you from Gryffindor Tower, so you can come and go unobserved — at least until you are powerful enough to learn how to dematerialise and re-materialise your way about the castle.”

“Is that what you do when it looks like you’re Apparating?” asked Harry.

“Yes, but it’s more useful than Apparation. Wards do not stop you, and it’s instantaneous. However, if you want, you can dematerialise without re-materialising, which is great for spying.”

“Wow,” said Harry impressed.

“Just before you go, I want to teach you a spell that, had you known it, would have protected you from Umbridge’s hex tonight. This is one I learned from a _medicine man_ when I was on walkabout in Australia with a tribe of Aborigines. He called it the _Boomerang Shield_ because it sends your opponents’ magic back at them, just like a boomerang. A wand is not required; it is a non-directional spell that you cast upon yourself rather than another. You simply focus your mind on your body, then extend your attention outwards a foot or so, and imagine a membrane surrounding you, shimmering like the surface of a lake that reflects everything that touches it. Say the word _boomerang_ as you visualise this shield. The spell requires a fair bit of magical energy, but I think you should both be able to do it now. Let’s give it a try….”

“Stand about fifteen feet apart, and cast the shield. OK? Now, start flinging hexes at each other — nothing too nasty, please.” 

Harry and Hermione followed Jason’s instructions. It looked as if they were incompetent novices because none of their magic seemed to be working.

“So the shields also protect us from our own rebounding spells,” observed Hermione.

“Exactly,” replied Jason. “End yours, with a non-verbal Finite Incantatum, and cast a spell on Harry.”

Hermione immediately began floating upwards, having attempted a Levitation Charm on Harry. “Err, if I do a Finite Incantatum on Harry, will it rebound and let me down gradually?” asked Hermione nervously, as she floated towards the roof.

“It will let you down, but not gradually; you’ll come crashing down in a heap on the floor,” said Jason with a laugh. “Just use the same method on Harry as you did to gently lower the bookcase. Of course, you will need to imagine that he’s the one floating in the air, but I’m sure you can do it.”

Hermione floated gradually back to the ground, her face a picture of intense concentration.

“Very good. Now, just before you let your shield down, Harry, I’ll show you another use for it,” said Jason, grabbing a book from his desk and hurling it at Harry. The book rebounded from Harry’s shield and flew straight back at Jason, who caught it deftly.

“That would be a great one to use against Bludgers,” said Harry, impressed.

“Needless to say, you will not be using this charm for Quidditch,” said Jason, grinning. “When you are able to deeply connect to the _Source_ , you will even be able to hold the shield for long periods of time and project it beyond your own body, to also protect someone standing beside you. I would like you to keep this shield a secret. I was going to suggest you share it with Ron, but perhaps not yet. As you are doubtlessly aware, he is going through a spot of emotional strife right now.”

Hermione blushed, and Harry snorted at Jason’s understatement.

“I am not sure if he can be relied upon to act rationally at the moment; so it may be best not to confide too much in him, until he sorts himself out. I leave it to your discretion.”

“What about when I’m duelling with Professor Lupin and Tonks?” asked Harry.

“Definitely not!” said Jason. “Firstly, I want to keep the Boomerang Shield a secret until you really need it. You know the rule: Tell as few people as possible. Secondly, I understand your private lessons with Remus and Tonks are designed to sharpen your duelling skills. The idea is to make it challenging for you.”

“Well, it is challenging!” exclaimed Harry. “Especially when it’s two against one. Professor Lupin is really powerful, and Tonks was trained as an Auror.”

“Just keep practicing the meditation exercise, and you’ll be surprised how quickly your magical power increases. Before you begin duelling, calm yourself, become aware of your breathing, and reach out to the _Source._ Oh, and there is another spell that you may find invaluable when duelling, but I doubt Remus and Tonks would appreciate you using it on them.”

“What is it?” asked Harry.

“Incendio,” said Jason.

“We know that one,” said Harry. “What do you want me to do, set fire to my opponent?”

“No,” said Jason. “That would not be nice, even if you could; but all you would probably do is singe their eyebrows. People are not made of wood — but _wands_ are,” he added with a grin.

“Oh,” said Hermione. “I see what you mean. If you set your opponent’s wand on fire, they’ll be disabled — unless they are powerful enough to use wandless magic. So why don’t people use it in duelling?”

“Because a wand is a very small target, and when duelling, it is usually in motion. Aiming your wand at an opponent’s moving wand, and hitting it, would require a great deal of luck. But, with wandless magic, it is the mind that aims. You simply look at the object of your spell and even if it is moving, as long as you keep your eye on it, you will hit it. As your power grows, you will develop the ability do wandless and non-verbal magic.”

Hermione looked anxiously at her watch again.

“Right then, let’s find you a safe route home,” said Jason, taking the hint. He closed his eyes and seemed to be visualising something. “Yes, that’s it … perfect!”

“What were you doing?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Well, you know the map Harry’s father and his friends made, the Marauder’s Map?”

“Did they let you use it?” asked Harry.

Jason laughed. “Magical maps have been around a long time. Remus asked me if I knew the spells to make one. I found them in an ancient text in the Restricted Section. More recently, I discovered that I can use the same magic to project a magical map of my surroundings in my mind. It’s very useful. That’s how I spotted Umbridge ambushing you tonight.”

“Wow,” said Harry. “I’d sure like to know how to do that.”

Jason smiled. “So much to learn, and so little time … speaking of which, we better get you back to Gryffindor Tower. Now, what we need is a door … right here, I think,” said Jason pointing to the wall. A handsome oak door, a perfect match for the one to the classroom, appeared in the wall and gently swung open to reveal a passage. “That should do nicely; come on,” he said, leading the way through the door into the passage he had just made. It was lit by sconces and connected to an existing passage into which Jason led them. Eventually they came to a concealed doorway which Harry recognised; he was now on familiar territory. When they arrived at the hanging that separated them from the main corridor to their common room, Jason asked them to stop.

“There are still people about in your common room. It wouldn’t do for the two of you to arrive together,” said Jason. “You go first, Harry. Hermione, give him a few minutes before following. Goodnight,” said Jason before vanishing.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The following Saturday morning was the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice of the year. The six remaining members of the team met to choose a new captain after Harry announced his resignation, and the choice of Ron was unanimous. Harry was happy for his friend; he knew it was something Ron had always dreamed of. Ron immediately announced Quidditch practice and tryouts. All the existing players would have to convince him they deserved their place on the team. He seemed fired up with missionary zeal and could talk about nothing but Quidditch to whoever would listen. Hermione flatly refused and chose to spend her evenings in the library. Luckily for Harry, he and Ron were not supposed to be talking to each other, but Harry was starting to suspect that Ron was going to turn out to be even more fanatical than Oliver Wood.

There were several new hopefuls for the chaser and beater positions, but no one was interested — or perhaps, dared — to try out for Seeker or Keeper. Harry let a Snitch loose and spent the time flying about at top speed, high above the pitch, searching for it. He was enjoying the exhilaration of flying again. The Snitch was playing hard-to-get today, and it took at least thirty minutes before Harry spotted a golden gleam out of the corner of his eye and hurtled towards it. Just as he reached his hand out for it, a maroon blur shot right in front of him. Looking up he saw a triumphant Ginny Weasley holding the struggling Snitch.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” complained Harry, “I didn’t know I had competition!”

Ginny released the Snitch which quickly disappeared and flew down alongside Harry and gave him a long kiss.

“Careful!” said Harry, who was staring to slide sideways. “If you keep that up, I’ll fall off my broom. Do you think anyone can see us way up here?”

“No, we’re way too high; they might know it’s us, but from the ground we could just as well be arguing. I’ve missed you,” she said, giving him another kiss.

“Yeah, me too,” said Harry. “Have the Chaser tryouts finished then?”

“Yep, it’s Demelza, Dean, and me. I was the only one who managed to score on Ron — and then only once. He was unbelievable. I don’t think he’s going to have any more problems with confidence now that he’s captain.”

“No, but the rest of us will — big problems — he’s going to be a total slave driver.”

Ginny laughed. “Well, he better not take his personal frustrations out on the team, or he might get hit by one of my Bat Bogey Hexes.”

“Personal frustrations?”

“With Hermione, I mean. Surely you’ve noticed that it’s not going well. The stupid git — all he needs to do is give her good snog — instead of all this pretending and pussy-footing about. Why don’t you try to get him aside at the end of practice; you can pretend you need to talk about captain stuff or something. Just tell him to get on with it, the prat. Hermione’s losing patience with him — and I don’t blame her, either.”

“Well, OK,” said Harry reluctantly. “I’ll give it a shot, but I’m not too hopeful. I think Ron needs a few more years to grow up.”

“Well, Hermione won’t wait forever for the immature git, that’s for sure. Anyway, speaking of snogging, how about we sneak off after tea tonight? I’ll meet you in the passageway behind the tapestry that leads to Gryffindor Tower — you know, the one on the second floor.”

“You mean the one where Ron and I surprised you and Dean last year?” asked Harry resentfully.

“Yep, that’s the one — though it’s not the best of places for a snog — it lacks privacy. But don’t worry, we’ll go somewhere under your cloak, I know some much better places,” said Ginny, grinning. Then she gave Harry a kiss that made him forget all about Dean Thomas, before disappearing in a dive back towards the Quidditch pitch, leaving Harry clinging desperately to his broom.

The training session dragged on and on. Having settled on the same team as last year, except for Dean Thomas replacing the departed Katie Bell, Ron was putting them through a gruelling practice session, and it wasn’t until Ginny pointed out that they’d almost missed lunch that he agreed to let them go.

“Err, Ron, there’s some organisational stuff I need to tell you about now that you’re captain. Would you mind waiting up a bit?” asked Harry, as Ron was about to leave the changing room. Peakes and Coote, the Beaters, were still changing, and Harry was wondering how he was going to bluff until they left. But he needn’t have worried. Ron immediately launched into an animated monologue of his plans for future training sessions; all Harry had to do was nod occasionally. The problem came with getting Ron to stop once the beaters were gone and they were alone.

“Ron, please, shut-up!” yelled Harry, finally in exasperation. “This is not about Quidditch at all — that was just a pretext to get you alone. We’re not supposed to be talking to each other — remember? This is about the only chance I have, so will you please forget about Quidditch for a minute and listen?”

“What?” asked Ron, baffled. Harry had finally gotten through to him. “What are you on about then?”

“Hermione,” said Harry. “Hermione — remember her? I know she’s not on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I’m sure you know who I’m talking about.”

“There’s no need getting all smart-arsed with me, just because I’ve demonstrated how a Quidditch practice ought to be run,” snapped Ron. “Anyway, what about Hermione?”

“Do you want to be with her? Really with her?” asked Harry, deciding on the direct approach.

“What are you talking about?” asked Ron uncomfortably.

“Ron, I don’t know how I can say this any plainer. Do you want to be her boyfriend? Do you want her to be your girlfriend?”

Ron just stood there, his eyes moving randomly around the changing room, looking everywhere but at Harry. Finally, he looked resentfully at Harry. “What business is it of yours — are you missing snogging her? Do you two want to get back together again?”

“Ron, stop being a stupid idiot!” yelled Harry angrily. “First of all, you know the two of us being together was just a sham — for Ginny’s sake — so she wouldn’t be targeted. Can you remember that part of it? Secondly, we had to do that bust-up in the Great Hall so Hermione wouldn’t become a target. Do you remember that part of it? We can hardly pretend to be back together again, now can we? And, in case you forgot, it’s your sister Ginny I like!”

“Will you stop talking to me like I’m some kind of moron,” grumbled Ron sulkily.

“Well, stop acting like one!” snapped Harry. “You’re supposed to be acting as if you’re dating Hermione, but all the pair of you do is argue. How do you expect anyone to believe the two of you are together?”

“Well, as I recall, it takes two to argue. So why aren’t you having this conversation with Hermione?”

“She says the arguments are because you get jealous every time she goes near another wizard.”

“Well, if we’re pretending to be together, she shouldn’t be going off with that Goldstein git all the time. And she shouldn’t be spending all her time in the library flirting with him and Corner and that other Ravenclaw jerk … what’s his name? Coot?”

“Boot. And she’s not flirting with anyone; she’s doing schoolwork with them — assignments, research, that kind of stuff. You know how serious Hermione is about her studies. The Ravenclaw wizards are the best students in our year after Hermione, so it’s only natural that she wants to work with them.”

“Yeah, because I’m not bright enough for her,” said Ron, looking away.

Harry suspected he had stumbled upon the source of Ron’s insecurity about Hermione. “Actually, Ron, you are probably just as bright as those Ravenclaws — you could probably beat the lot of them at wizard chess — it’s just that you don’t take your studies seriously, and they do — and Hermione sure does.”

Harry could tell from Ron’s face that he was not convinced. Maybe it came from having five older brothers who had all been successful in their own ways. Maybe it was his fault for being the famous Harry Potter, who had survived Voldemort as a baby, who had been on the house Quidditch team since first year, and Tri-Wizard champion. When the two of them were together, Harry got all the attention. Sometimes it seemed like Ron was almost invisible. It was hardly surprising after six years that he had such an inferiority complex — apart from Quidditch, where he had finally come into his own — and that had taken a couple of years. Ron obviously felt intimidated by Hermione’s formidable intellect and felt like he didn’t measure up. He just plodded along in class, while she shone; and her association with the best and brightest of the wizards was just the thing to set off his feelings of insecurity.

“Look Ron, if you want Hermione, then you’ll just have to take a risk. Ginny seems pretty sure Hermione wanted to be with you at the start of the year —”

“What do mean _wanted_?”

“Well, you’ve really pissed her off, mate. I think she expected more than just the _pretence_ of being together … but you blew it.”

“Well, she could have said something, if that’s what she wanted. Then I’d have known for sure,” said Ron.

“Well, maybe Hermione’s not all that confident about your feelings for her. She hasn’t had much experience with boys and dating and stuff. She’s never even had a boyfriend —”

“Yeah, what about that Krum git?”

“That doesn’t count. She went to the Yule Ball with him, and that was about it.” 

Ron fumed silently. Harry realised that Ron still hadn’t forgiven Hermione for going to the ball with Victor Krum three years ago. He shook his head.

“So, is she a good snog, then?” asked Ron peevishly.

“You’ll have to find that out for yourself,” said Harry, grabbing his things and leaving Ron to stew. 


	9. Never Say Die

_**Chapter 9 ~ Never Say Die** _

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lupin told them he would be teaching them a recently discovered spell that was new to the wizarding world. He did not explain where it came from, and guessing it was probably from Jason, Hermione did not put her hand up to ask about its origin.

“You were in your third year, I believe, when Hogwarts was guarded by the Dementors of Azkaban. I doubt that many of you will have forgotten them. Dementors are perhaps the foulest creatures in existence. They are soulless and evil. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, and glory in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness from all around them. If they get near you, they suck out every good feeling, every happy memory you ever had, until eventually you are left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life.

“The Ministry of Magic,” continued Lupin, “was foolish enough to believe the Dementors could be trusted as obedient servants to guard Azkaban for them. It should have been obvious that only Voldemort could satisfy their disgusting appetites, and only he was evil enough to command their obedience. For almost two years they have been under his control; and although he has used them occasionally, his primary interest appears to be in breeding the loathsome creatures to produce a fearsome army. 

“It has always been assumed that Dementors cannot be destroyed, that they can only be repulsed, using the Patronus Charm. This is what your textbooks say. The good news is: The textbooks are wrong. A new charm has recently come to light that destroys Dementors; it consumes them, devours them. In fact, some of you may have witnessed it in action when the Hogwarts Express was attacked recently. Did anyone see the Dementors being destroyed?”

Neville Longbottom was one of the first to raise his hand. “Yes, Neville,” said Lupin. “Please tell us what you saw.” 

“Well, there were all these Dementors hovering outside the train, professor, maybe twenty or thirty of them. It was really scary. Then these tiny creatures appeared from nowhere — there were maybe a hundred of them. They had feathery sort of wings, and their bodies were almost transparent. They sort of glowed.”

“What do you think they were, Neville?” asked Lupin.

“W-well, they sort of looked like … err, like angels, sir.” Professor Lupin nodded encouragingly. “And they seemed to, err … to eat the Dementors.”

“Thank you, Neville. Ten points to Gryffindor. The spell I am about to teach you does in fact produce tiny creatures that look in many respects like angels, as described in religious folklore. They feed on Dementors and devour them. Interestingly, the Dementors, rather than fearing and fleeing them, appear to be attracted to the angel-like creatures. Perhaps they are mesmerised; they simply float about and allow themselves to be devoured.”

“The spell is called the _Angelus Charm_. The incantation is _Emanio_ _Angelus_. I would like you all to repeat it after me, ‘Emanio Angelus’. Very good, but that was the easy part. To produce the tiny angels, you need to wave your wand, say the incantation … and feel _Love_.”

This was greeted by immediate laughter and giggling, particularly from the girls.

“Do not worry if you do not have a boyfriend or girlfriend or even someone you secretly admire. You can think of anyone for whom you have feelings of love. It could be a parent, brother, sister, favourite aunt, uncle, grandparent, your best friend, even your pet Kneazle. Think carefully before making your choice; the stronger the love, the more successful the spell, and the greater the number of angels produced. Remember, you just need to think of the person and feel the love; there is no need to say the person’s name. Rest assured: no one will know who you are thinking of.”

This was greeted by muffled, nervous-sounding giggles.

“What’s a good number of angels?” asked Pravati anxiously.

“This is not a competition or proof of your undying love, so please relax. If you can produce even one angel today, I will be satisfied; two or three would be excellent. I will not be marking you on the number of angels you produce. If you are unsuccessful with the first person you think of, try someone else. Who knows, you may just surprise yourself,” said Lupin with a grin.

When the giggling died down, he continued. “Please spread out around the room and aim your wand at a bit of empty space. If you do manage to produce angels, end the spell immediately with Finite Incantatum and continue practicing.”

Harry had no doubt that Ginny would do the job for him, but he was stunned when at least twenty angels erupted from his wand.

“Your attention please,” said Professor Lupin, pointing to the three angels Hermione had just produced. “Can you all see what they look like? Very good, Hermione, another ten points to Gryffindor. Finite Incantatum. Alright, please carry on everyone.”

Luckily, everyone’s attention had been directed to the front of the classroom by Professor Lupin, and no one had noticed the flock of angels bursting from Harry’s wand at the back of the room. Harry quickly ended the spell and the angels disappeared while everyone was still looking at Hermione’s angels. Harry suspected his spectacular success was due to more than just the way he felt about Ginny; it was probably also a consequence of his growing power. He was using the secret route to visit Jason several nights a week, now, and doing the meditation exercise every night by himself before drifting off to sleep. 

There were students from all houses in the seventh year classes, and Harry didn’t want any of the Slytherins reporting back to their Death Eater parents that Harry Potter was madly in love with someone … it would be too easy to guess who. Harry tried again, this time thinking of Hermione, and again he produced a lot of angels, maybe eight or nine, but still way too many. He got rid of them before anyone noticed and tried thinking of his owl, Hedwig. That was better, only four angels that time.

Hermione seemed to be consistently producing three or four angels. Harry wondered if she was thinking of Ron — no, probably not, he decided. Ron seemed to just make her angry these days. Perhaps she was thinking of Crookshanks. Ron was having no luck at all. His face was screwed up in concentration, but it looked like he was feeling anger rather than love. He must be thinking of Hermione, thought Harry.

“Why don’t you try the Chudley Cannons,” whispered Harry. Ron glared at him, but Harry noticed Ron looking a lot more relaxed and producing a couple of angels pretty soon afterwards. Then he noticed Anthony Goldstein produce three angels and smile meaningfully at Hermione, who blushed and turned away. When seven angels burst from Hermione’s wand, Harry thought, _Oh dear, this is not good_. “I hope you weren’t thinking of Anthony Goldstein,” he whispered.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” she whispered back, “I was think of one of our Professors.”

“Which one?”

“I’m not saying,” she replied.

Harry suspected it might be Jason. But it didn’t necessarily need to be romantic. After all, he wasn’t in love with Hermione or Hedwig in a romantic way. Hermione respected and liked Professor McGonagall a great deal, so maybe it was her, or even Professor Flitwick — everyone liked him.

Five angels came shooting out of Neville’s wand. Now that was bad news! Harry looked away. He did not want to meet Neville’s eyes — he was certain Neville was thinking of Ginny. The other night, when they’d sneaked off together, Ginny told him she was worried Neville was getting too attached to her. She had modified the original plan, and instead of telling Neville she was secretly with Harry, she told him she still really liked Harry and wanted to get back together with him, but that Harry wasn’t interested. This was safer because if Neville talked and it got out, there would be no point in targeting Ginny to get to Harry. She had told Neville she just wanted to pretend to be with him to try to make Harry jealous.

The plan seemed good to Harry, but Neville had fallen for Ginny even though he knew she really liked Harry. To make matters worse, seeing Neville with Ginny had not stirred Luna’s interest in him. Ginny’s idea was a good one — and, in fact, it worked a treat, but unfortunately with the wrong wizard. Seeing Ron with Hermione had suddenly revived Luna’s interest in Ron. Harry had always suspected that Luna fancied Ron.

As they were leaving the classroom, Professor Lupin asked Harry and Hermione to wait a moment. “Close the door, please, Harry,” he said. 

“Hermione, I want to thank you personally for the wonderful Wolfsbane Potion you brewed. I know how notoriously difficult it is to make and the huge effort involved. I just want you to know that it is the best brew I’ve ever had. The last full moon was the easiest I ever experienced. Jason — err, Professor Trolove, was kind enough _not_ to tell me it was brewed by a student, rather than himself … until afterwards. But from now on, I will be very happy to know that you brewed it. I have awarded Gryffindor fifty house points.”

Hermione blushed with pleasure. Harry wondered if maybe it was Professor Lupin who had inspired Hermione’s seven angels.

“Harry, your first attempt at the Angelus Charm was very impressive — too impressive — at least twenty angels, I think. Fortunately, I managed to distract the class so no one saw them, and you obviously realised your mistake because you managed to tone down your subsequent attempts. But you need to be very careful; not only in this class, but also others, like Transfiguration and Charms, where you are called upon to demonstrate your magical power. There are children of Death Eaters in all of those classes, and it would be best if they remained ignorant of your growing power. One simple trick would be to use this,” he said, handing Harry a wand. “It’s not actually a wand; it’s just a piece of wood that looks very much like your wand. No one will notice the difference. Essentially you’ll be doing wandless magic when you use it.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, pocketing the fake wand.

“I don’t know what kind of training Jason is giving you, Harry,” said Lupin, looking at him thoughtfully. “Your magical power is constantly increasing. Aside from Dumbledore and Voldemort, I cannot think of anyone with the kind of power you have developed. I suppose Jason must be powerful too — but if he is, he hides it well — apart from the performance on the Hogwarts Express. Not that he’s admitting to it, but he taught me the Angelus Charm, so it’s a bit of a dead giveaway, really. He has asked Tonks and me not to tell anyone about your growing magical power, even members of the Order. If you are able to keep it secret, it will be a great advantage. You need to be very careful, Harry, whenever you do magic in front of others.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“Time for a Horcrux hunt,” said Jason. Harry and Hermione were sitting in his office in comfortable bean bags he had conjured for them. He had sent them origami bird messages at the evening meal, asking them to come to his office dressed in warm Muggle clothes beneath their Hogwarts robes, and for Harry to bring his Invisibility Cloak.

“Where is the Horcrux?” asked Hermione.

“In London, in a time capsule, buried deep within the foundations of the Nat West Tower. When the foundations were poured, they buried a time capsule, for posterity, containing an assortment of items reflecting the popular culture of the day. The Horcrux is inside the time capsule.”

“But, the Nat West Tower is a skyscraper. The foundations must go down hundreds of feet.” said Hermione.

“Then it’s not possible to get to it,” said Harry, shaking his head.

“Well, Voldemort certainly thought so,” said Jason.

“The time capsule will be set in tons of concrete, hundreds of feet underground. There won’t be any empty space around it, so you can’t get at it by Apparating or Materialising,” said Hermione. “No one can get to it until the building is demolished; and that won’t happen for hundreds of years. I suppose Voldemort intends to recover the Horcrux if they ever dig up the time capsule — assuming he’s still alive.”

“I’m sure he’s assuming just that,” said Jason, “since he believes himself to be immortal. However, we cannot wait until the building is demolished to destroy Voldemort, so the only option is to get his Horcrux _before_ they build it,” he said, picking up what looked like a time-turner from the desk behind him.

Hermione smiled. “Clever! But won’t it be dangerous going so far back in time? I mean, changing time is meant to be really risky,” she said anxiously. “You might do something that makes everything in the present time change; you might even cease to exist.”

“Relax, Hermione,” said Jason in that calming, almost hypnotic voice he sometimes used. “Nothing material or significant needs to be changed. The item in which Voldemort’s Horcrux is concealed will simply be exchanged for another identical item. You and Harry will be moving about Muggle London at a time before either of you were born; there is really no risk of any material change.”

“Hermione and me?” asked Harry. “What about you?”

“For reasons that will become apparent, I cannot accompany you.”

“When are we going to do this?” asked Hermione, her eyes fixed on the golden Time-Turner in Jason’s hand.

“Right now,” said Jason. “Please stand up and remove your Hogwarts robes. I’ll transfigure your Muggle clothes to look more like what people were wearing back in the winter of seventy-seven.” Hermione and Harry soon found themselves wearing bright, psychedelic jerseys. Their blue jeans had been turned into brightly-coloured corduroys, flared at the bottoms. “Throw the Invisibility Cloak in here, he said handing Harry a khaki-coloured canvas shoulder bag. You’ll find a purse with some Muggle money of the era in the bag.”

He handed the golden hourglass-shaped Time-Turner to Hermione. It was on a long golden chain. “I believe you’ve used one of these before. This one may work a little differently, however. It’s designed for long-distance time-travel — going back years. You will notice it has five small rings around the centre. If you look carefully, you will see they are marked respectively with years, months, days, hours, and minutes. I have already set it to midday on February 10th, 1977. All you have to do is press the star-shaped button on the top. It will memorise the present date and time and take you to the day and time to which it is set. To return to when you left, simply press the crescent-shaped button on the bottom. Your physical location will remain the same.”Jason gestured towards his desk where a map of London suddenly appeared. “In a minute, I’m going to take you to the Shrieking Shack. You will use the Time-Turner to go back to 1977, then Apparate to this little lane off Portobello Road,” said Jason, pointing to the map. “Cover yourselves with the Invisibility Cloak before Apparating from the Shrieking Shack, and do not remove it until you are certain you are unobserved. Then walk up the lane and turn right into Portobello Road. A little way along, at number 231, you will find the Magic Caravan music shop, where you will buy a popular rock album by Black Sabbath, called _Never Say Die_. Leave the record in the paper bag, return to the lane, and put the Invisibility Cloak back on. Then, Apparate to this little side street — here; it’s off Old Broad Street and runs along the construction site where they will soon be laying the foundations of the Nat West Tower.

“You will find a high wooden fence running all the way along the building site. Look for a doorway marked _Excavation Access_ and wait nearby under the Invisibility Cloak. It will be a Saturday, so the building site should be mostly deserted, apart from the odd security guard. At around one in the afternoon, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange will Apparate into the side street and head for the doorway. Hit them with Impediment Curses before they reach it — take out one each. One of them will be carrying an identical record to the one you just purchased, right down to the paper bag from the Magic Caravan music shop. Lucius Malfoy will know where the items that are to go into time capsule are locked away. They will probably need to deal with security guards, but that’s their problem, not yours. They plan to replace the copy of Never Say Die that is to go into the time capsule with their own. But in fact, they will be replacing it with yours, because, after stunning them you will swap their record with your own.”

“How did you find all this out?” asked Harry.

“I didn’t,” said Jason. “Severus did. As you know, he’s been working on a potion to allow him undetected access to Voldemort’s mind. So far, he has had only limited success and has not dared to try it on Voldemort. However, he decided to surreptitiously test his best effort to date on Bellatrix Lestrange, who is no great shakes as an Occlumens — she’s far too emotional and excitable, and thus most unlikely to detect his skilful Legilimency. Severus slipped some to her to see how well it would work, and he took the opportunity to learn as many of her secrets as possible. Among other things, he learned about the record that she and Lucius Malfoy exchanged for the one destined for the time capsule twenty years ago. Of course they didn’t know it contained Voldemort’s Horcrux, as he almost certainly did not confide its true contents in them — or anyone else. They were merely following their master’s orders. Severus, however, immediately realised there must have been a Horcrux concealed within the record, and he carefully noted everything that Bellatrix remembered about the incident.”

“So that’s why you asked me to research Memory Charms,” said Hermione. “After we switch the records, I need to memory charm them so they don’t remember being stunned.”

“Exactly,” said Jason. “I hope you did more than just research. I hope you practiced and know how to blot out just the desired memory.”

“Don’t worry,” said Hermione with a grin. “I’ve been practicing on Ron, and I’m sure I’ve got it right.”

“How did you manage to practice on Ron?” asked Harry. “Did he agree to let you?”

“I didn’t ask him, did I? I did it when we were sitting together in the common room. I’d say something really provocative, like: ‘Quidditch is a ridiculous game’ or ‘Anthony Goldstein has a much nicer nose than yours’. Then, just as he was about to explode, I’d memory charm him to forget what I’d said. I did it using a nonverbal spell, pointing my wand at him from inside my book bag.”

Harry and Jason both laughed. “Ingenious, Hermione,” said Jason. “You have done your homework diligently, as always. So, after swapping the records, use Finite Incantatum to end the Impediment Curses and then immediately memory charm them, so they don’t remember. They should just carry on into the building site with your record, and you’ll Apparate back to the Shrieking Shack with theirs and use the Time-Turner to return to the time you left. I’ll be there waiting to bring you back to Hogwarts. Now, there’s one more thing I need to do before we go,” said Jason, picking up a piece of parchment and scribbling a brief note on it. He folded it and handed it to Hermione. “Put this in your pocket for now, and give me your hand. You too, Harry. Are you both ready?” he asked, taking their hands and dematerialising with them before they could ask about the parchment.

It was weird; Harry felt no sensation at all. One moment they were in Jason’s office, and the next, they were in the pitch-black Shrieking Shack. Jason lit some candles on the walls with a wave of his hand. They were standing in the dusty hallway a few yards from the front door.

Hermione reached inside her jersey and removed the Time-Turner. Standing next to Harry, she stretched the chain to reach around his neck. But before she could press the star button to activate it, Jason said urgently, “Wait a moment!”

Harry and Hermione were surprised at the sudden emotion in his voice. They both stared at him. Why was he acting so strangely?

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t want to tell you until now because you would have found it very distracting and disturbing, particularly you, Harry. I doubt you would have heard a word I said about what you need to do in London.”

“What is it?” asked Harry, apprehensively.

“After you activate the Time-Turner and go back to 1977, do not immediately Apparate to the lane off Portobello Road. Instead, wait in the Shrieking Shack for a few minutes. It will be a Hogsmeade weekend, and two students will enter the Shrieking Shack. I want you to let them see you. That’s all you have to do. Under no circumstances, should either of you say anything to them. If they ask you questions, you may nod or shake your heads, but you must not give them any information about the future — do you understand?”

“Who are they?” Harry and Hermione asked together.

“You will know them,” said Jason thickly. “And they will understand why you are there and why you won’t talk to them. Don’t worry, they won’t stay long. As soon as they’ve gone, Apparate to London and follow the plan. Oh, and Hermione, when they come through the door, please give the piece of parchment to her. OK, it’s time to go. Good luck and see you soon!”

Hermione activated the Time Turner. The candle-lit hallway dissolved. Harry felt like he was accelerating backwards at breakneck speed. Unrecognisable shapes and a kaleidoscope of colours rushed past him, and his ears were pounding; then he felt solid ground beneath his feet again. He was standing next to Hermione in exactly the same hallway, but now weak, wintry sunlight was shining through the cracked panes on either side of the front door. Motes of dust danced in the rays of sunshine. Hermione removed the chain from around Harry’s neck.

“It’s going to be my mum, I’m sure of it,” said Harry nervously. “And maybe my dad, too. Do you know how old they will be?”

“In February, 1977, your parents must have been in their seventh year, so they’ll be about the same age as us. Harry, this is really weird. It may not even be your parents. I think we should draw our wands, just in case. It’s not like Jason to spring something like this. I wonder why he did it and what it’s all about.”

“I don’t know, but it sure feels weird. Stay here near the door, Hermione. I’m going over here,” said Harry, drawing his wand and moving down the passage out of the sunlight and into the dark shadows. “I want to see who it is before they see me. I feel really, really, strange about this.” 

They remained silent, wands at the ready, listening. After several minutes, they heard footsteps approaching, and then voices. “Are you sure it was the Shrieking Shack, Lily?”

“Yes. In the vision a voice kept whispering over and over, ‘Go to the Shrieking Shack at midday, on the next Hogsmeade weekend; there is someone you have to meet.’ But, what I didn’t tell you before is that the voice was yours.”

“My voice? Wow, weird! Draw your wand, Lily, just in case. Ready?”

The door slowly opened and a tall boy walked in, followed by a red-haired girl. Hermione recognised him immediately. “Jason?” she said, lowering her wand. It was so weird seeing him as a seventeen year-old.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Remembering she was supposed to remain silent, Hermione handed the piece of parchment to the girl.

“What does it say?” asked Jason, suspiciously.

“Dear Lily, You wanted proof. You wanted be sure that your vision would come true. Here is your proof. He and his friend have travelled back in time, twenty years. They will not talk to you or tell you anything about the future. Please do not ask. Some things are best left unknown —”

“But who’s it from?” asked Jason.

“Let me finish,” said Lily. “I have returned to help him defeat Voldemort, just as you foresaw in your vision. I have missed you more than words can tell. Love, Jason.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you my dear,” said Lily thickly, squeezing his hand. “You survived, just as I’ve seen in my visions. But where is _he_?”

Harry stepped forward into light. There was a tear on his cheek.

“James?” asked Jason.

“No, you’re not James, are you? You’re James’ son,” said Lily gently.

Harry nodded.

“I have seen you, so many times in my visions. I would recognise you anywhere, even if you did not look like James, even if you did not have my eyes. You are my son.”

Harry nodded again. Tears were streaming down his face; he had never felt such emotion in his life.

Lily, too, was crying. She held her arms open, and Harry stepped forward and embraced his mother. 

Hermione looked up at the young Jason as he observed them hugging each other. She saw the look of utter despair in his face. In that moment, he knew with certainty that he and Lily were finished, forever. Lily had her proof at last; she was holding it. Her decision was finally made. She would leave Jason and go to James Potter. Hermione felt an unbearable sadness; she wanted to comfort Jason and tell him he would one day find the answer to the burning question of his life; he would become an amazingly powerful wizard. But she knew she had to remain silent.

Jason looked at her for a moment. Hermione tried to smile at him comfortingly through her tears. He let out a long, sad sigh, then quietly turned and walked out the door.

Lily was standing with her hands on Harry’s shoulders, holding him at arms-length. She seemed to be drinking him in with her eyes. Hermione had the eerie feeling that Lily knew she would never see her son grow up, that there would never be another chance to see him like this. She kissed Harry on the cheek and said, “I have seen the future. You will be victorious.”

Turning, Lily saw that Jason was gone and shook her head sadly. She understood. A tear ran down her cheek. She turned to Hermione and whispered softly, “When you return, please tell him I will always love him, for as long as I live.” Then she was gone, closing the door behind her. 

Harry dropped to the floor and sat leaning against the wall, trying to control his emotions. All his life he had dreamed about her — the mother he had lost as a baby, the mother he had longed for, but had never known. Somehow, it felt as if the aching gap in his life was finally healed. He had met her; she had held him in her arms. His mother was no longer a vague image or some fearful apparition whose final words tore through his mind when the Dementors got too close. She was real, and he would carry her memory with him all his life.

Hermione, too, felt overcome with emotion. The whole scene had been so unexpected and come upon the four of them so abruptly — it was impossible not to feel emotionally drained. She realised she had witnessed a pivotal moment in time — the moment in which Lily Evans made the choice that saved the wizarding world from Voldemort. She had seen her son from the _Future of Hope_ and received confirmation that Jason had returned to help him. She could no longer doubt her vision or what she must choose. In fact, Lily no longer had a choice; she knew in that moment it had already been made — she had seen its fruit. Hermione wondered whether Lily thought back to this meeting in that terrible moment when Voldemort killed her. It would have been a great comfort to realise that Voldemort would not succeed in killing her baby, because she had already met him and embraced him as a seventeen year-old. Not only would her son survive, but he would eventually destroy her murderer.

“Harry, we’ve got to go,” said Hermione, taking his hands in hers and gently pulling him to his feet. They hugged each other and dried their eyes. “Maybe we should take a few deep breaths and focus on our breathing to steady ourselves,” she said. Harry nodded.

“I’m alright now,” said Harry a minute later, sounding calmer. Standing next to Hermione he threw the Invisibility Cloak over them. “Come on, Hermione, let’s get that Horcrux!” 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

They Apparated to the deserted lane and after checking they were alone, Harry pulled off the cloak and shoved it into the bag. They walked to the end of the lane and emerged onto Portobello Road to look for the music shop. It felt weird being in London of twenty years ago. The main thing Harry noticed was how different people looked. In the record shop, almost all the males had long hair, and a lot of the older ones were sporting beards. The clothes were bright and mostly psychedelic. Hermione found the Black Sabbath record, fished the purse out of Harry’s bag, and paid for it. She seemed a lot more confident in Muggle London than he did. Hermione gave him the purse and the record to put in the shoulder bag and they headed back to the lane, where they threw on the Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to the building site. The side street was empty and it didn’t take long to find the entrance the Death Eaters would use. The doorway was blocked by high iron gates, which were chained and padlocked.

The waiting was the hardest part. It was half-past twelve, and they had thirty minutes to wait. It was a cold, damp day in London, and they were both shivering until Hermione thought to cast a heating charm beneath the cloak, which kept them both warm as toast.

At last Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange appeared. They Apparated into the side street about twenty yards from where Harry and Hermione stood hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak and began walking cautiously in their direction. Lucius Malfoy must have been about twenty-five; he looked more like a taller version of Draco than the Lucius Malfoy Harry remembered. Bellatrix was extraordinarily beautiful, but it was lost on Harry who could not look at her without loathing, as he remembered how she had killed — or at least would kill — his godfather, Sirius. When they were only a few feet away Harry and Hermione hit them with Impediment Curses. 

Hermione had decided they should remain under the Invisibility Cloak because the Death Eaters would still be able to see and hear — even though they could not move — just in case the Memory Charms did not work properly. Silently, they circled around behind them. Bellatrix had a large, black leather bag slung over her shoulder. Hermione was able to open it without having to remove it from Bellatrix’s shoulder, which would have been difficult in her frozen state. The record was in an identical pink paper bag from the Magic Caravan music shop. Hermione swapped it with theirs, and then refastened the catch on the bag.

They stepped back a few paces and together ended the Impediment Curses with Finite Incantatums. Hermione immediately memory charmed them. Lucius Malfoy looked around to check that no one was behind them, and Bellatrix Lestrange patted her large leather bag reassuringly. For a moment, they seemed to have a slight sense of unease, but quickly dismissed it. They were obviously unaware of what had just happened.

“This way,” said Lucius Malfoy, pointing to the doorway. He flicked his wand, muttering a spell and the chain and lock crashed to the ground. He pushed open the gates, and they disappeared inside.

“Time to go,” whispered Hermione, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze. They Apparated back to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. As soon as they arrived in the dusty hallway, Hermione pulled the Time-Turner from her jersey, placed the chain over Harry’s head and pressed the crescent-shaped button on the bottom. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry found the return-trip back to their own time just as unpleasant as the first leg of the journey, except instead of feeling like he was hurtling backwards, this time it was forwards. When the sound and light show was over, he found himself, once more, standing in the candle-lit hallway. Jason was right where they’d left him.

“Everything go alright in London?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Harry. “But what happened here, before we went —”

“It took you by surprise, I know,” said Jason, “I remember. I was there with you at the time — twenty years ago. I thought it might be best to simply let it happen, rather than try to explain it beforehand. I remember the encounter was as much a surprise to you as it was to us.”

“So that’s why you said ‘we meet again’, when we first met at The Burrow; you’d already met me, here, twenty years ago,” said Hermione. Jason nodded. “But what would have happened if you hadn’t sent Harry back?”

“It sounds a bit strange, I know, but I had to send you both back, because … well, it had already happened when I was seventeen. If I hadn’t sent you, then, I don’t know … I suppose reality would have changed. Lily was the Seer, and I have faith in her and the future she chose. Knowing it was what she wanted me to do, how could I have done otherwise?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. Then holding out his hands for them to grasp, he said, “Come on, let’s get back to Hogwarts.” 

Back in his office, Jason transformed Harry and Hermione’s clothes back. He took the record from the canvas shoulder bag, and cleared a space on his bookshelf so he could stand it up, as if it were on display. Then he sat on his desk and contemplated it silently. Harry and Hermione flopped down onto the bean bags. Although they had only been away from Jason’s office for five or ten minutes in their time, a lot had happened. Harry was still coming to terms with meeting his mother in the Shrieking Shack.

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Hermione, looking at the record on the bookshelf, still in the bright pink paper bag from the Magic Caravan music shop.

“Treat it with a great deal of caution,” said Jason. “I believe there was a terrible curse on Marvolo’s ring, which almost killed Dumbledore. In fact, despite the quick action taken by himself and Severus, it severely damaged his hand and was slowly killing him. I plan to be very careful. We know the record is safe inside the paper bag.”

“Professor Dumbledore said that Voldemort liked to collect trophies and that he preferred objects with a powerful magical history,” said Harry, looking at the record, dubiously. “He thought Voldemort would be pretty choosy in deciding what to use as a Horcrux.”

“Well, the title of the rock album, _Never Say Die_ , would have appealed to him,” said Hermione. “He was obsessed with immortality, and the whole point of the Horcruxes was to make him immortal. Voldemort is French for _flight from death_ , which is almost the same as Never Say Die.”

“Yes,” said Jason. “I think both the name of the record and the name of the band, _Black Sabbath_ , might have appealed to him; although I doubt very much he was up on Muggle rock music. However, Professor Dumbledore was probably right: Voldemort would not have used something as common and banal as a Muggle rock album for his Horcrux, despite its title and the name of the band.”

“What? Then why the hell did we go to all the trouble of getting it?” asked Harry.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s a Horcrux; but it’s not what it appears to be,” replied Jason, rising to his feet and walking over to the bookshelf. He stared at it intently for a moment. Suddenly it disappeared, and standing in its place on the shelf was a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles. “Don’t touch it!” warned Jason as Harry and Hermione hurried forward to get a better look.

“So, Voldemort concealed his Horcrux in this cup and then transfigured it to look exactly like the rock album that was going to be put into the time capsule,” said Hermione, inspecting it carefully from a few feet away. “Look! There’s a badger engraved on it.”

“It’s Helga Hufflepuff’s cup,” said Harry. “Voldemort stole it, along with Slytherin’s locket, from Hepzibah Smith. He murdered her and framed her house-elf.”

“Yes, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup would be much more Voldemort’s style,” said Jason. “But how to destroy the Horcrux? Do you know how Dumbledore destroyed the one concealed in Marvolo’s ring, Harry?”

“No idea, but I destroyed one in second year; it was concealed in Tom Riddle’s diary. Of course, I didn’t know anything about Horcruxes then. I just thought Tom Riddle — Voldemort — had somehow hidden a memory of his sixteen year-old self in the diary. When Ginny wrote in the diary, it possessed her, and eventually came to life by draining the life from her, down in the Chamber of Secrets. I stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang, which killed Riddle, and, according to Professor Dumbledore, destroyed the Horcrux.”

“A most impressive feat, Harry, especially as you were only twelve at the time. Remus told me the whole story. However, we are rather short on basilisk fangs, and I doubt that one would work on this cup.”

“How about the Avada Kedavra Curse?” asked Hermione hesitantly. “It wouldn’t be _Unforgivable_ to use it on an object, would it?”

“No, I don’t suppose it would,” replied Jason, “but I’d prefer not to use that curse.”

“No,” said Harry, looking at Jason and realising they both wanted to avoid using the curse with which Voldemort had murdered his mother.

“In any case,” mused Jason, “I doubt the Killing Curse would work on a Horcrux because it acts on the body.”

“What we need,” said Hermione, “is something like a spell or ritual that exorcises the soul or spirit. Such things have always existed in Christianity, particularly Roman Catholicism. Even today there are priests who practice the ancient traditions of exorcising evil spirits.” 

“Yes, of course! I’ve seen African witchdoctors doing much the same thing. When a person dies, sometimes their soul attempts to remain with their family or tribe by possessing a person or sometimes inhabiting an animal — snakes are much favoured — or even a tree or a rock. I cannot recall any of the exorcism rituals clearly, but I don’t need to. They are merely a means of connecting to the _Source_ , which I can do directly,” said Jason, staring in absorbed concentration at the cup, which began to vibrate. A small, wispy cloud of white vapour rose from the top of the cup and floated slowly upwards. It hung together for a few seconds before beginning to dissolve and finally disappeared.

“Was that the Horcrux?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” said Jason. “It was smaller than what I can remember seeing in Africa, but then it was just one seventh of a soul.”

“Where has it gone?” asked Hermione.

“Back to the _Source_.”

“What? Something as evil as Voldemort’s soul?” asked Harry disbelievingly.

“I don’t know if souls are good or evil. But the _Source_ is neither good nor evil, it is beyond all qualities. The _Source_ is everything; it encompasses everything, including what we call good and evil.”

“But you said it was like love.”

“No, I said the closest word we have for how it _feels_ is love.”

“But isn’t that the same?” asked Harry.

“No, not at all. When we truly connect to the _Source_ , the feeling is a lot like the feeling of love, because that is what love is — connecting deeply with another. When you love someone or something, you feel close, connected, even part of them. Hatred is the exact opposite; it is feeling separate, different, alienated, and estranged.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry let Hermione return first to the Gryffindor common room, as they did not want to be seen arriving together. When he entered, there was a ding-dong fight raging between Ron and Hermione. They were standing ten feet apart, yelling at each other. They had the complete attention of everyone in the common room. No one even noticed Harry climbing in through the portrait hole.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to deny it!” yelled Ron. “I saw you get a message from him at dinner tonight. You’ve been off snogging him senseless, what the —”

“How do you know who the message was from?” demanded Hermione. “It could have been anyone. And how do you know what I’ve —”

“Well, obviously I can’t _prove_ it was Goldstein you were snogging, but it’s pretty bloody obvious the way the useless git drools every time he sees you. And anyway, even if it wasn’t him, you were snogging someone — and it wasn’t me!”

“And it never will be — ever!” screamed Hermione angrily, stamping her foot before turning and running up to her dormitory.

Harry noticed a look of grim satisfaction on Ron’s face. He caught his eye and nodded towards the stairs leading up to their dormitory. Seamus and Dean were playing Exploding Snap, and Neville was sitting with his arm draped around Ginny, which infuriated Harry and made him even blunter with Ron than he’d intended once they were alone in their dormitory.

“You’re a bloody idiot, Ron! Hermione and I were off doing stuff with Jason — it was Jason who sent the origami bird to Hermione. If you weren’t such a stupid, suspicious git, you might have noticed that I got one too, and that I was missing from the common room as well as Hermione. What exactly did you expect her to say when you launched into your jealous rave? That she’d been doing stuff with the Potions Professor — or, worse still, that she’d been off with me?”

“Well, she could have told me where she was going,” grumbled Ron. “It was her own bloody fault if I put her on the spot. And how come the pair of you are always going off doing stuff with Trolove? I thought he said he would just be training you, by yourself, and sometimes Hermione and me might join in. I don’t seem to be part of anything, any more,” he said resentfully.

“Yeah, well, mostly I am training on my own with Jason. You know Hermione’s brewing the Wolfsbane for Lupin, so she’s often down there working on it, and when she’s finished she sometimes sits in with us. But the reason Jason never includes you is because he knows how upset and angry you are about Hermione. He doesn’t trust you to act rationally, right now — and I don’t blame him! What happened before down in the common room just proves it.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, mate; it’s bloody obvious that you don’t trust me either! Well, you can both stop worrying about me acting irrationally because of Hermione. The act is over, and it’s a bloody relief, it’s been driving me crazy. Now I can concentrate on more important things — like winning the Quidditch Cup! I’m going to make the Gryffindor Quidditch team the best house team in the history of Hogwarts … just you wait and see,” said Ron, his eyes shining with religious fervour.

Harry wondered if it was worth pointing out to Ron that there were more important things than Quidditch: like destroying the Horcruxes … and then Voldemort. Maybe once the novelty of being captain wore off, Ron would get his priorities sorted out a bit better. In a way, Harry was relieved that the Ron and Hermione pretence was finally over. It was obviously a huge relief to Ron, and Harry suspected Hermione would feel the same way once she calmed down and got over the injustice of Ron’s accusations in the common room tonight. 


	10. The Hostage

_**Chapter 10 ~ The Hostage** _

It was surprising how quickly things settled down between Ron and Hermione. In little more than two weeks, things were pretty much back to normal. Harry was relieved he didn’t have to pretend to be angry with them anymore. It was great to be able to act naturally with his friends. Ron and Hermione seemed to be going out of their way to be polite to each other. Obviously that wasn’t going to last, but at least they were trying to get their friendship back on track.

Hermione decided there was no need for her to find another boyfriend to deflect suspicion that she and Harry were still secretly together. Their pretended fling had lasted less than a week, and it was obvious to all that it was business as usual with the trio. And anyway, Hermione knew that simply being best friends with Harry was enough to make her a target — and Ron, too, for that matter. Pretending to have a boyfriend wasn’t going to change that. But the truth of the matter was she simply didn’t have time for a boyfriend. There was a batch of Wolfsbane Potion on the brew, which needed constant attention, two out of every four weeks; and there were times when she was able to sit in on Harry’s sessions with Jason; there were her Head Girl responsibilities; but most of all, there was a massive amount of work to get through before the NEWTs at the end of the year. There was no time for romance this year, she decided; and anyway, maybe in another year or two Ron might actually grow up a bit and stop being such an immature prat.

Harry was sitting at breakfast one morning between Ron and Hermione, when the usual breakfast din was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash. Harry looked around for the source of the noise. He saw Hermione staring in horror towards the back of the hall. “Oh my,” she said.

Following her gaze, Harry saw that the enormous oak doors at the entrance to the Great Hall had been smashed and lay shattered on the floor. An enormous head protruded through the doorway. It was followed by the rest of the enormous body, bent over double as it squeezed itself, with difficulty, through the large double doorway. Finally, the enormous figure straightened itself to its full sixteen feet. “Hadrig?” it boomed, looking stupidly around the Great Hall.

“It’s Grawp!” said Harry. “Why do you think he burst into the Great Hall like that?”

“Look!” gasped Hermione. “There’s something in his arms. It looks like he’s carrying someone.”

Hagrid stomped down the hall towards his giant brother with Professor McGonagall hard on his heels. Grawp stood motionless for a few moments. He was cradling someone in his arms, the way a little girl might cradle a doll. He began trying to sooth it, making a low crooning noise and patting it gently. But it would not be soothed. From the sound of the shrieks and cries it was a woman. “Put me down you loathsome, foul beast! You great monstrous moron! Help me! Help me! Someone help me!” she shrieked.

“Oh no,” groaned Hermione. “You know what Grawp’s done? He’s rescued Umbridge from the Forbidden Forest and brought her back to Hogwarts. And … oh dear … it looks like he’s become rather fond of her. Obviously he doesn’t understand a word she says, or he would have given her to the centaurs by now.”

Hagrid had now reached Grawp and was trying unsuccessfully to persuade him to hand Umbridge over to him. She was covered in bruises and scratches and looked the worse for wear after several weeks wandering about in the Forbidden Forest. Eventually, McGonagall caught Grawp’s eye, and he quaked beneath her fierce gaze as she motioned for him to pass his charge to Hagrid. Reluctantly, he handed Umbridge to his brother, giving her a final, gentle pat.

“Take her to the Hospital Wing, Hagrid, and ask Poppy to check her over,” said McGonagall briskly.

“No!” shrieked Umbridge. “I refuse to stay one minute more at Hogwarts. I don’t need to go to the Hospital Wing; it’s just a scratch or two. I insist on returning to the Ministry — immediately!”

“I have no idea what on earth you have been up to, Madam Umbridge; and quite frankly, I do not wish to know. I suspect, however, that your current appearance may fall somewhat short of the Ministry’s dress code,” said McGonagall sardonically. “I insist that you receive a check up from Madam Pomfrey. She will heal your cuts and bruises. Should she find anything more serious, you will be transferred to St Mungo’s. Otherwise, you are most welcome to leave. Rest assured that neither I, nor any of the Hogwarts professors or students, wish to detain you here for one moment longer than is necessary,” she added with an icy smile. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

On Saturday evening, Harry and Hermione received messages from Jason asking them to come after dinner and to bring Ron and Ginny with them. Ron knew pretty much what Harry had been doing with Jason. Now that they were talking again, Harry and Hermione had brought him up to speed on events, including their Time-Turner trip back to 1977 to retrieve the Horcrux transfigured as a Black Sabbath rock album, and their meeting with seventeen-year-old Lily Evans and Jason Trolove in the Shrieking Shack. But Harry had deliberately kept Ginny in the dark, for her own protection … plus there were better uses for their limited opportunities together.

They took the secret route to Jason’s office, where they found four comfy bean bags awaiting them. 

“The reason I called you all here is that we have a bit of a problem. I have just received intelligence of a plan to kidnap a Hogwarts student. The object is to use the student as a hostage to lure Harry to Voldemort’s stronghold.”

“Who’s the student?” asked Harry.

“Ginny.”

“Ginny?” asked Ron. “But, Harry and Ginny have split up — as far as everyone knows, anyway. She’s with Neville all the time.”

“I don’t even know if this plan was the result of information from Hogwarts. If it was, then maybe Neville and Ginny haven’t been convincing enough —”

Harry and Ron both snorted disbelievingly. They seemed to agree that Neville and Ginny were more than convincing enough.

“Or perhaps it was the weakness of _Act II_ — the Ron and Hermione romance — that gave the plot away,” suggested Ginny. “Pansy Parkinson always seems to be looking at Neville and me, and she was keeping an eye on you two, as well,” she said, looking at Ron and Hermione. “You weren’t very convincing. I don’t think she was fooled for a moment. Maybe my plan wasn’t such a great idea after all ….”

“This is all speculation,” said Jason. “You were probably always going to be a candidate to bait a trap for Harry after being with him last year, Ginny, regardless of what happened this year.”

“Did the information about the kidnap plan come from Snape?” asked Harry.

Jason nodded.

“What?” demanded Ginny. “Snape’s a Death Eater — he killed Professor Dumbledore, how can you —”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” said Jason, smiling at her. “Perhaps some other time one of the others can tell you all about —”

“No!” exclaimed Harry. “I don’t want Ginny getting involved in any of —”

“Well, it looks like I’m already involved!” replied Ginny fiercely.

“Look, I’m sorry, but we really don’t have time for this right now,” said Jason gently. “You two can sort this out between yourselves … later.”

“When is the kidnapping meant to happen?” asked Ron.

“Some time tomorrow the morning, it seems.”

“But, we’ve got Quidditch practice tomorrow morning,” said Ron.

“Which would be the perfect opportunity to snatch Ginny,” said Hermione. “The practice will have been booked for weeks; all the other teams will know that you’ll be down at the Quidditch pitch.”

“Yeah, including Slytherin,” said Ron. “But it’s not exactly going to be easy to snatch Ginny from the middle of the Gryffindor Quidditch team — and no one can catch her once she’s on her broom.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Ginny. “They wouldn’t attempt it during the practice; it would be either before or afterwards.”

“Like in the changing room,” said Hermione.

“That’s right,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “We usually all walk down to practice and back again in one or two groups. We change into our Quidditch gear before we go down and take a change of clothes so we can shower and change afterwards. Demelza and I will be alone in the girls changing room; it would be easy enough for someone to sneak in and hide while we’re practicing. Then, when we come to take our shower and change, they jump out and stun us.”

“I think that’s pretty much the plan,” mused Jason. “They’ll leave Demelza and probably smuggle you out of Hogwarts under an Invisibility Cloak. As soon as you are past the wards, they could use a Portkey or side-by-side Apparation to take you anywhere.”

“Why not just use a Portkey in the changing room?” asked Ron.

“With all the added security in place, no one could get a Portkey in undetected,” said Hermione. “Plus, they are very difficult to make.”

“I believe the strengthened wards would prevent a Portkey from working,” said Jason. “After all, if someone did succeed in making one, they could abduct anyone,” he said, looking significantly at Harry.

“So, all I have to do is _not_ get changed after the Quidditch practice tomorrow,” said Ginny. “I’ll just go straight back to the castle, right?”

“Wrong,” said Jason with a smile. “We don’t want your abductors leaving empty-handed.”

“What?” demanded Harry. “You want to let Voldemort take Ginny hostage — you must be completely crazy! I’ll never agree to it!”

“If Ginny eludes them tomorrow,” reasoned Jason, “they’ll just come up with a different plan to get her some other time, some other way; and we may not get a warning next time, so we’d be unable to take evasive action.”

“Evasive action?” demanded Ron, “What are you talking about? You just said you want to let them take Ginny. What the hell’s evasive about that?”

“This,” said Jason, morphing into a perfect replica of Ginny.

“Wow!” said Ginny, “You’re a Metamorphmagus like Tonks. I’ve never seen her morph to look exactly like someone else.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been studying you for the past ten minutes,” said Jason casually. He was not really a Metamorphmagus. He was, in fact, using a different kind of magic — but he assumed Harry did not want Ginny to know about all of that. “Those damn freckles of yours are hellishly difficult to get right.”

“Err, Jason, do you think you could morph back to yourself?” asked Harry. “I’m finding it confusing having two Ginny’s in the room and remembering that one of them is you.”

“You better make sure it’s really me next time we go off for a snog,” said Ginny, giggling. Hermione and Ron snorted, but Harry looked somewhat embarrassed.

Anxious to move the conversation along, he said to Jason, who had reverted to his normal appearance, “So, you’re going to come down to Quidditch practice instead of Ginny tomorrow and let them kidnap you instead.”

“Hang on!” exclaimed Ron. “That will mess up our whole practice! I’ve got it all planned out and Ginny needs to be there. Can’t you swap with her afterwards?”

“That was the idea,” said Jason, “For one thing, I can’t fly a broomstick to save my life. So where would be the best place to do the swap?”

“The broom shed,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “I’ll go in to put my broom away after the practice. Ron, you can ask Demelza to stay back a few minutes to show her a new tactic or give her some advice — you’re never short on that. That will save her getting stunned. Harry, you make sure no one comes into the broom shed until I — well Jason — comes out. I presume you’ll go in under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, and I’ll leave under it, right?”

“Something like that,” said Jason. He didn’t need an Invisibility Cloak, but Ginny did. “Harry, I’ll come back most of the way to Gryffindor Tower with you tonight, so you can give me your Invisibility Cloak. Ginny, I’ll accompany you, invisibly, down to Quidditch practice tomorrow, just to be on the safe side — in case the plan is not quite what we expect. Then, after the practice, you can slip out of the broom shed under the Invisibility Cloak at the same time that I exit, morphed as you. Please come straight up here, to my office, and stay here until I return — no one must see you.”

“Right, but how long will you be? What am I supposed to do in here while I’m waiting?”

“Well, you could bone up on your potion making,” said Jason with a cheeky grin. “Or, you could have a book bag prepared on your bed. Hermione can fetch it for Harry to bring down here, along with some lunch. That way you can catch up on your studies … if the two of you can’t think of a better way to pass the time.” Hermione and Ginny giggled, Ron looked uncomfortable, and Harry was trying hard to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know how long I’ll be detained at Voldemort’s pleasure. It could be anything from one to maybe five or even ten hours. You may need to bring Ginny dinner as well, Harry.”

“Err, would you mind not err … just materialising directly into here?” asked Harry. “Maybe you could knock first, err … just in case….”

Ginny giggled, but she was puzzled. “How could you just appear in here? You can’t Apparate in Hogwarts. And aren’t you worried about being held hostage by Voldemort? How come you’re so sure you’ll be able to get away unharmed?”

“Those would be very good questions to ask Harry, while you’re waiting for me to return, but I shall leave that for the two of you to settle between yourselves. Hand me your wand please.”

Ginny gave it to him reluctantly. “They’ll probably break it,” she said anxiously.

“Almost certainly,” said Jason, taking his own, and looking back and forth between them until it looked exactly like Ginny’s, which he handed back to her.

“But they’ll break yours,” said Ginny.

“Not to worry,” said Jason carelessly. “I can always get another one.”

Harry was almost certain that Jason’s wand was just a piece of wood, like the one Lupin had given him. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

_Ginny’s_ abduction from the girls changing room had presumably gone to plan. By the time Demelza got there, _Ginny_ was gone, apparently forgetting her change bag, which Demelza thoughtfully returned to her dorm for her. Since Ginny was in the habit of sneaking off, it didn’t occur to Demelza, or anyone else, that she was missing. Harry suspected that Ron had earned himself a place on Voldemort’s hit list for making them practice an hour extra and keeping him waiting for his hostage.

It was soon after dinner when they heard a knock on the door. “Err, come in,” said Harry.

_Ginny_ entered and immediately morphed back into Jason. Looking around he noticed Hermione and Ron were there as well. “What’s with the welcoming committee?” he asked, throwing himself down in the heavy leather chair behind his desk and putting his feet up. 

He really did not look much like a Hogwarts professor, thought Hermione. “Well, I came down after dinner to make a start on the next batch of Wolfsbane Potion, and Ron was already here. He said he wanted to make sure Ginny and Harry were OK.”

“You mean he wanted to stop us snogging!” said Ginny irately.

“Crikey, you’ve been at it all afternoon,” complained Ron. “Enough’s enough!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t remember enough ever being enough last year when you and Lavender were permanently joined at the mouth!” retorted Ginny angrily. “And anyway, we weren’t snogging _all the time_. I persuaded Harry that since Voldemort decided to abduct me, there was no point in trying to protect me by hiding everything. So he’s been bringing me up to date about everything, including his training and _you_ ,” added Ginny, giving Jason an appraising look. “So there’s no need to send me back to the Gryffindor common room while you tell the others what happened.”

“Good,” said Jason, smiling, as he began recounting his adventures…. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Before entering the changing room, morphed to look like Ginny Weasley, he’d projected a magical map and spotted Pansy Parkinson hiding in one of the toilet cubicles. When she snuck out under an Invisibility Cloak, he surreptitiously deflected her hex and pretended to be stunned, but he let her put the Mobilicorpus spell on him. Pansy threw a second Invisibility Cloak over _Ginny_ and then levitated her out of the changing room and down to the Hogwarts Gates. There was no one about. “Draco, Draco,” she cooed in a sickly, saccharine voice.

Draco Malfoy emerged from behind a nearby tree. Pansy removed both Invisibility Cloaks and smiled smugly at him. He was dressed in dark wizarding robes. “Well Draco dear, here she is, just like you asked. I hope you appreciate all the risk and effort I’ve gone to,” she said ingratiatingly.

“What the hell took you so long, Parkinson?” grumbled Draco, “I’ve been waiting for over an hour. I was sure you’d stuffed up — I almost left.”

Pansy was clearly miffed. “Draco, it’s not very nice of you to talk to me like that after everything I’ve done for you. It’s hardly my fault if that idiot Weasley — who, in case you haven’t heard, has taken over as Gryffindor Quidditch captain — decided to keep them practicing forever. You could show a little gratitude. I’ve taken a lot of risks for you, Draco. It was really —”

“Shut up!” snapped Draco impatiently. “You’re taking risks right now, standing there blabbering, when someone could come along. Just levitate her over the gates to me, will you?”

“Won’t the wards stop her?” asked Pansy anxiously.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course not, you stupid idiot! She’s a Hogwarts’ student, remember? The wards only stop people who aren’t supposed to be at the school — like me! And they stop them from getting in — not out. Parkinson, if someone gave you a brain, it would be lonely. Now get on with it!”

As soon as Pansy had levitated _Ginny_ over the top of the gate, Draco took control of her with his own wand. “Now get the hell out of here! Put your Invisibility Cloak back on and go back to the castle — now!”

Pansy was in tears, but she did as he demanded. “Well, bye then, Draco,” she said thickly, as she threw one of the Invisibility Cloaks over herself. “And _please_ answer my owls. You know how much I miss you —”

But she stopped, because as soon as Draco had levitated _Ginny_ down beside him, he took hold of one of her arms, and Disapparated away with her, without so much as a thank you or goodbye. They Apparated to Wiltshire, arriving outside the gates of Malfoy Mansion. Draco briefly deactivated the wards to float _Ginny_ through the gates and up a long, tree-lined avenue to the front door of the mansion. Once inside, he steered her along a wide, wood-panelled hallway, illuminated by elegant gas-lamps and then down a handsome stairway, which led to some rather less-ornate stone steps which descended to a dark, damp passageway. Draco reached into his robes and removed a ring of large brass keys. He turned one of the keys in a lock and swung open a heavy door to reveal a small, window-less cell. Depositing _Ginny_ on a low ledge against one wall, Draco waved his wand, attaching her arms and legs to manacles that were fixed to the wall with heavy chains. Then he stepped back towards the door and Ennervated her. _Ginny_ opened her eyes and looked around in apparent confusion.

“Welcome to Malfoy Mansion,” sneered Draco. “You should feel greatly honoured. We don’t make a habit of inviting impoverished riff-raff and other lowly scum — like Weasleys — here. It lowers the whole tone of the place,” said Draco arrogantly, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his robes. _Ginny_ sat up on the ledge and glared back at Draco.

“Potter’s little blood-traitor girlfriend,” said Draco mockingly. “Pansy wasn’t fooled by your pretence of splitting up with Potter. She says hero Potter will come and rescue you, although I have no idea what he sees in gutter garbage like you, Weasley. Hmm … maybe I should find out. We have a little time on our hands,” he said menacingly, as he moved towards her, grinning evilly.

Jason glared at Draco. He had decided the best way to maintain his disguise was to keep silent. He wasn’t sure how convincing an impersonation he could do of Ginny’s voice, and he might say something that would give the game away. He really didn’t like the direction things were taking. He knew he could always stun Draco or simply dematerialise away, but that would defeat the whole purpose of the exercise.

“Father won’t mind if I have a little fun with you, before we take you to —”

“I most certainly _will_ mind, Draco,” said Lucius Malfoy, entering the cell and looking coldly down his arrogant nose at _Ginny._ “The Dark Lord has not forgotten your failure to carry out his orders to kill Dumbledore. You are very lucky Snape was there to finish him off … otherwise you would probably be dead. My position with the Dark Lord is not much better — he has not yet forgiven me for the debacle in the Department of Mysteries, despite the vast amounts of gold I regularly give to that incompetent Fudge to keep the Ministry from meddling in our Master’s affairs.”

“How much have you given the fool?” asked Draco, concerned that the family fortune he would one day inherit was being seriously depleted.

“I have a standing order in place at Gringotts for a vault-to-vault transfer of ten thousand galleons on the first of every month. Keeping Fudge sweet is my personal responsibility. There are, of course, lesser Ministry officials to keep compliant as well, but Parkinson and some of the other wealthy supporters take care of them. The arrangement is not, however, without some personal benefits. As you are well aware, I have a number of business interests which contravene various Ministry regulations regarding such things as the importation and possession of illegal objects, staff working conditions, the use of indentured labour, creature exploitation, sex slaves, and the like. Fudge makes sure the relevant Ministry departments stay well away from my enterprises, which enables me to more than offset his monthly bribe,” said Lucius smugly.

“But the most important thing is to redeem ourselves in the eyes of our Master and make the name of Malfoy first amongst his followers. That, Draco, is far more important than gold. I congratulate you on the successful abduction of Potter’s little girlfriend. I hope you showed proper appreciation to Pansy Parkinson — your mother tells me she quite dotes on you. It was Pansy who alerted you to Potter’s continuing attachment; and although you devised the plan, she executed the most difficult part. It would be most impolitic of you to offend her, Draco. Her father carries a great deal of influence with the Dark Lord — more than I do at the moment — although, hopefully, that is about to change. I absolutely insist that Miss Weasley be handed to the Master _untouched_. Do I make myself _absolutely clear_ , Draco?”

“Yes, Father. But, maybe afterwards —”

“That is up to the Master to decide. Should he wish to reward you with this blood-traitor gutter filth as a plaything, you may have your fun with her then. But we should not presume to know his intentions. He may offer to exchange her for Potter. You know how that conceited fool Potter loves to play the hero. He is stupid enough to agree to it, and if it is a binding magical promise, then she must be returned unharmed.”

“But what about everything she has just heard?”

“Obviously she will be memory-charmed to remember nothing from the moment she entered the Quidditch changing rooms — including being here in Malfoy Mansion. Have you taken her wand, Draco?”

“Not yet, Father,” mumbled Draco, who had overlooked it. 

“Well, take it and destroy it. Then leave her.”

“Yes Father. How much longer must we wait?”

“I do not know. The Dark Lord is aware that we have her. As you know, his security precautions are such that we cannot go to him until he chooses. I am expecting one of his servants to arrive soon with a Portkey. Ensure you are ready and correctly attired to appear in his presence, Draco.”

“Yes Father, of course,” said Draco obediently as his father turned and left the cell.

_Ginny_ had taken her wand from the inside pocket of her Quidditch robes and held it across the palm of her hand defiantly. There could be no mistake that she was surrendering it rather than attempting to use it. But mostly, it was to deny Draco the excuse of feeling her up while he searched for it. Draco was no longer a concern; it was clear he would not disobey his father.

Draco snatched the wand from her outstretched hand and snapped it in two before striding haughtily from the cell; slamming and locking the door behind him. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

_Ginny_ did not have long to wait. Voldemort was eager to take possession of his prize, and he preferred not to entrust her safekeeping to the Malfoys — or anyone else for that matter. He wasn’t the trusting type. The key turned in the lock, and the door was pulled open to reveal Draco Malfoy, resplendent in his black Death Eater robes and mask. He flicked his wand at _Ginny’s_ manacles, and they fell from her arms and legs. He stepped backwards out of the cell, keeping his wand trained on her.

“Out here, Weasley, and hurry up about it,” he barked, attempting to hide his nerves, which were on edge at the prospect of appearing before his Master. Draco forced _Ginny_ to walk in front of him as he marched her along the damp passageway and up the rough stone steps and then continuing up the polished wooden stairway.

Lucius Malfoy, also dressed in his Death Eater robes and wearing the traditional mask, stood in the wood-panelled hallway, drumming his fingers impatiently on a small table positioned against the hallway wall. A large, dark green, metal ring about the size and shape of a circular doorknocker lay upon the table. Upon closer examination, it resembled a snake coiled and twisted around itself, holding its tail in its mouth. Lucius also pointed his wand at _Ginny._ Despite his haughty demeanour, he, too, was clearly apprehensive about appearing before his Master. “Take hold of the Portkey,” he snapped at her, as he and Draco reached for it with their free hands.

The Portkey deposited them outside a very high, stone wall in a rather bleak location that might have been on an isolated English moor, or perhaps a remote part of northern Scotland, or even one of the larger offshore islands. It was windswept and cold under the harsh grey sky. They stood before a huge wooden gate next to an old gatekeeper’s lodge, which was built into the enormous wall. Four Dementors swept over the wall and hovered high above them. Lucius aimed his wand at an enormous brass knocker attached to the gate. It made no sound, but presumably alerted those within. After several minutes, a dozen more Dementors appeared above the wall, and a small door, built into the gate, opened inwards. Four Death Eaters in robes and masks emerged with wands drawn.

Lucius was required to identify himself by responding to a number of challenges issued by one of the Death Eaters. When he was satisfied that Lucius was indeed who he claimed to be, he lowered his wand and shook his hand. Lucius handed the Portkey to another of the Death Eaters before they entered the grounds through the small door, which was locked, bolted, and warded behind them. The Dementors were dismissed and floated away as the party made its way up a long, bleak cobblestone driveway towards the foreboding castle, which loomed large before them. _Ginny_ had a Death Eater on either side and two behind her, all with their wands pointing at her. The Malfoys followed.

At the castle gate they were met by Bellatrix Lestrange who dismissed the four Death Eaters and greeted her brother-in-law and nephew coldly and impersonally. Her loyalty was above all, to her Master, and Lucius and Draco had both failed him. If they succeeded in restoring themselves to his good graces with this hostage, she would take her lead from him and afford them due respect, but that was yet to be seen. With her wand pointing at _Ginny_ , she marched her down a long sconce-lit hallway, followed by Lucius and Draco. She stopped at a door, which she opened with a flick of her wand and prodded _Ginny_ to enter. It was a small, bare, windowless room with grey stone walls. “Face the wall, arms above your head, hands on the wall,” she barked harshly, frisking _Ginny_ meticulously from head to foot. After the physical search, she passed her wand up and down Ginny’s front, back and sides. Obviously she was using a spell to detect concealed objects.

“Draco already destroyed her wand,” said Lucius, sounding somewhat affronted.

“And did he search her thoroughly to check she didn’t have another one hidden? Or perhaps some other weapon? Did he check for concealed objects, such as Polyjuice Potion?” demanded Bellatrix icily.

Lucius looked towards Draco, raising an eyebrow questioningly behind Bellatrix’s back. Draco would not meet his eye; he looked down guiltily at his feet. Lucius turned a withering glare on him but remained silent.

“How long ago was she taken?” demanded Bellatrix, turning around to face them.

Lucius looked at Draco, nodding to indicate he should answer. Draco removed a golden pocket watch on a chain, and after studying it he replied nervously, “I took her from Hogwarts thirty-five minutes ago. Pansy probably stunned her ten minutes before than. Err … it was all meant to happen a hour earlier, but that fool, Ron Weasley kept the Quidditch —”

“Spare the excuses, Draco. Fortunately for you, the Dark Lord was not aware of precisely when she was expected — we do not usually trouble him with such trifling details — so no apology for the delay will be required. I must discount the time prior to your taking possession of her, as we cannot verify what occurred in that period. Our Master is very attentive to matters of personal security, as you are well aware. Therefore, we need to allow another thirty minutes to elapse before she appears before him — just in case Polyjuice Potion was used.”

Bellatrix conjured a stool for _Ginny_ to sit on and manacles to chain her to the wall, and then led Lucius and Draco from the room, locking the door behind them. “You may go, if you wish. I can tell the Dark Lord you had business elsewhere,” said Bellatrix teasingly, knowing full well that Lucius Malfoy would not miss the opportunity of personally presenting his prize to their Master, no matter how long he had to wait.

“Thank you, Bellatrix,” replied Lucius coldly, “we will wait in the library. Come Draco.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

It was almost an hour before the Master was ready to receive the Malfoys and their hostage. Bellatrix removed _Ginny’s_ shackles and led her from the small room. Lucius and Draco Malfoy were waiting impatiently outside and walked on either side of her, behind Bellatrix.

As they entered the grand hall, the Dark Lord was sitting majestically on a large throne-like chair, with several Death Eaters standing on either side of him and others forming a guard along each wall. He looked haughty and bored. “Approach with the prisoner,” he ordered. Bellatrix stepped to one side to allow the Malfoys to proceed, holding _Ginny_ between them. When they were about twenty feet from him, they released her and fell to their knees, then prostrated themselves full length on the cold stone floor.

“Bow to the Dark Lord!” barked Bellatrix, rushing forward to prod _Ginny_ in the back with her wand. “Bow, or feel the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, insolent brat!”

“Silence, Bellatrix! Return to your place,” hissed the Dark Lord coldly. Bellatrix retreated obediently. “You may rise,” he said carelessly to the Malfoys. “So, Lucius, you think this bit of bait will bring me the Potter boy?” he sneered.

Lucius Malfoy rose to his feet, suppressing the instinct to brush off his expensive robes — it would not be a good look. “My Lord,” he said bowing his head. “I have it on good authority that Potter is very fond of the girl. He and his friends engaged in an amateurish deception designed to give the impression that this was not the case. Obviously, their intention was to ensure that she would not be used to draw him into a trap. I am sure my Lord is well aware how much Potter loves to play the hero. There can —”

“Yes, yes, Lucius, I know more about his fetid little mind than I would wish. If you recall, I have taken steps to block the mental link between us — ever since the _unfortunate_ events at the Department of Mysteries….”

Lucius Malfoy bowed his head uneasily at the reference to his botched attempt at obtaining the prophecy.

“Let us hope you do not disappoint me again, Lucius,” he said ominously. “What kind of trap did you have in mind for this scrap of bait?” he asked, gesturing coldly towards _Ginny._

“I would not presume to tell my Lord how best —”

“So you have no ideas, Lucius. Never mind, I have a plan. Parchment and quill!” he demanded, glancing towards the nearest Death Eater on his right, who immediately handed them to him. He began to write while everyone in the hall looked on in obsequious silence. When he had finished, he read:

_“Harry Potter,_

_I am holding Ginny Weasley captive. The price of her freedom is yourself._

_I swear a binding Wizard’s Oath that she will be released, unharmed, if you come to me immediately and alone._

_This evening, go to the Hog’s Head and ask the bartender for a package bearing the initials GLV. Inside you will find a Portkey to bring you to me._

_Affixed to this parchment you will find a lock of her hair — as proof that I have her. If you do not come to save her, you will receive another message tomorrow — along with one of her fingers, the next day a hand, then a foot, and so on. Come quickly, while there is still something left to rescue._

_Lord Voldemort.”_

A soft murmur of admiration ran around the hall as the Dark Lord sat gloating. “Lucius, ask Dolohov for a Portkey for Potter, and arrange for its immediate delivery to the Hog’s Head, understood?”

“Yes, my Lord, certainly. But why the initials GLV?”

“ _Guest_ of Lord Voldemort,” he replied snidely, to the required murmurs of appreciation. “Bellatrix, dispatch the message to Potter with the lock of hair,” he said, waving the parchment at her.

“Immediately, my Lord,” she replied rushing forward and accepting it with a reverential bow. “And it will be my pleasure to remove her finger and any other parts you may require, my Lord, if you will permit me that honour,” she said, bowing again and licking her lips hungrily.

“Unless I have been deceived,” he replied, looking ominously at Lucius Malfoy, “that will be unnecessary. Take her to the dungeons.”

Bellatrix bowed once more before backing away from her Master and leading _Ginny_ out of the hall. Instead of returning her to the room where she had previously been held, Bellatrix marched her down several flights of stone stairs to the dungeons. She forced _Ginny_ to walk in front, prodding her with her wand, stopping to unlock several heavy doors for them to pass through. Finally, Bellatrix threw open a heavy iron door and pushed _Ginny_ into a dark, dank cell. She waved her wand to light the single sconce and manacled the prisoner to the wall with short chains that did not permit her to lie or even sit on the floor.

“My Master said you would be unharmed. He did not say you would be comfortable,” she cackled evilly. Drawing a dagger from her robes she cut off a lock of red hair; then holding the dagger menacingly an inch or two from _Ginny’s_ face, she said, “I hope your little Potter boy does not come too soon. I hope he will need a little convincing,” she said, running the flat side of the dagger menacingly along _Ginny’s_ cheek, cackling madly, before extinguishing the sconce and leaving the cell in total darkness. 


	11. The Witch from Hell

_**Chapter 11 ~ The Witch from Hell** _

Jason decided he had enjoyed Voldemort’s hospitality long enough. He spent the afternoon exploring the castle in his invisible, dematerialised form. There was no one within several minutes walk of his dungeon, and the castle wards prevented Apparation. So, by checking his magical mental map every few minutes, he was safe from being discovered AWOL. He decided to wait until dark before making his escape as it offered the greatest scope for diversion and confusion. He could, of course, simply dematerialise away, as the wards and other magical protections would not stop him; but he was determined to make a credible pretence of escaping as Ginny Weasley — he had to remember to use both wand and incantation. He did not want Voldemort to suspect that his prisoner was anyone other than Ginny, such as Harry Potter or some other witch or wizard with unknown powers impersonating her. Plus, it would make things nice and sticky for Bellatrix and the Malfoys — who their Master was bound to blame.

Jason did not know how many Death Eaters he would have to battle his way past; there were at least two dozen in the castle. He planned to dodge their curses and hit them with some obscure Confundus Charms; but just in case he became seriously outnumbered, he cast a Boomerang Shield. There were also dozens of Dementors, but they were guarding the outer walls. Obviously Voldemort and the other occupants of the castle preferred to keep them and their chilling effects at a good distance.

Jason conjured himself something that looked like Ginny’s wand. Voldemort would be most displeased with Lucius and Bellatrix when he learned they had _not_ , in fact, disarmed her. “Lumos,” he said, lighting the wand before blasting the iron door of the cell off its hinges and charging along the clammy passageway. He blasted another heavy iron door at the end of the passage to gain access to the stairs and ran up several flights before stopping to cast a magical mental map. Damn it! The breakout had already been detected! There was a Death Eater two flights above him, heading his way. Jason climbed another flight of steps and then stopped and waited. 

The moment the Death Eater appeared, he hit him with a Confundus Charm that played havoc with his sense of balance. The Death Eater screamed in terror, trying desperately to grasp hold of the wall to stop himself falling down the stairs, as Jason dashed past. The next Death Eater surprised him and managed to get off a curse, which Jason dodged before hitting him with the same Confundus Charm, which seemed ideal for stairway combat. The door at the top of the stairs had been left open by the descending Death Eaters. Jason checked his magical mental map again … sure enough, there were three Death Eaters waiting for him — all, no doubt, with their wands trained on the same point at the top of the stairs. Jason used a leaping spell to come shooting out at speed from the stairs twenty feet above the point they were aiming at. Touching down behind them, he hit them with an assortment of Confundus Charms before they could turn their wands on him.

Fenrir Greyback was hit by an inversion charm, which made him feel like he was hanging upside down. He whimpered with fear, dropping his wand — it was a long way down to the ceiling. Rabastan Lestrange got the Boggart hex, which caused him to hallucinate and imagine that the thing he feared most was right in front of him. No one else could see it, but it must have been truly terrifying; he screamed and ran with his hands over his eyes, eventually running headlong into a stone wall and knocking himself out. Bellatrix Lestrange got the Mirror Charm, which transposes one’s left and right in a way that is not apparent to the victim. 

Bellatrix cackled madly, thinking _Ginny’s_ curse had missed her. She would have loved to use the Killing Curse, but she knew her Master would be furious if she killed his little hostage. So instead she aimed her wand at _Ginny_ , shouting “ _Crucio_ _!_ ” However, the terrible scream it produced did not come from _Ginny_ , but from Fenrir Greyback, at whom her wand was actually pointing.

Jason ran towards the castle entrance. Bellatrix attempted to chase him; but because of the Mirror Charm, she ran in the opposite direction and crashed headlong down the stone stairs that led to the dungeons, screaming all the way. Nearing the main entrance, Jason spotted five Death Eaters approaching fast, from a side corridor; they must have come from another part of the castle. He waved his wand at the corridor roof in front of them, bringing it crashing down in an enormous cloud of dust, and shaking the floor. When the dust cleared the corridor was sealing off by a huge pile of rubble, leaving the Death Eaters trapped behind it. Quickly casting a magical map, Jason spied two more Death Eaters hidden behind suits of armour near the entrance, waiting to jump out and hex him. A quick Altercation Hex made them forgot all about Jason and start laying into each other instead. Blasting the heavy door off its hinges, Jason raced outside, hexes and curses flying all around him. Turning back to the castle he saw another seven Death Eaters within, sprinting in hot pursuit towards the entrance. They were too far back to aim accurately, but one of them got lucky and hit Jason — or at least his Boomerang Shield. He fell to the castle floor stunned by his own rebounding hex. Jason cast an Inferno Charm in the castle entrance where the door had been. That would stop them getting out — plus keep them busy. The castle was built of stone but there was plenty of woodwork around the doorway to catch fire.

As Jason raced down the cobblestone driveway, several Death Eaters launched themselves from the castle parapet on brooms. Flicking his wand in their general direction, he set the ends of their brooms on fire, forcing them to make a mad dash back to the high parapet before the flames reached their backsides. Jason kept running as fast as he could towards the wall that enclosed the estate. As he neared it, dozens of Dementors swooped towards him. Thinking of Lily, he cast the Angelus Charm. A large flock of angels erupted from his wand and began devouring them. Jason was tempted to blast the gigantic wooden gate in the castle wall to bits, but he decided it might be a bit over the top. So he contented himself with blasting open the small door within it. He stepped through and dematerialised, leaving Voldemort’s castle in complete chaos. The Dark Lord would be in a _very dark_ _mood_ tonight.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When Jason finished recounting his adventures, the four teenagers looked somewhat stunned. Predictably, Hermione was the first to speak. “I don’t think Voldemort will be in a hurry to take Ginny hostage again,” she said, laughing. “But do you think he’ll really believe it was her — after what you did to his Death Eaters and his castle?”

“He might have his suspicions, but who else would he think it was?” asked Jason. “There are no obvious candidates — unless he believes Dumbledore has risen from the grave. He knows nothing about me or of Harry’s growing power. There is no reason to add a further mystery of how some unknown witch or wizard could have impersonated Ginny.”

“The impersonator could have had Polyjuice potion hidden on them and kept taking sips like Barty Crouch junior when he impersonated Mad-Eye Moody all year,” said Ron.

“No, Bellatrix gave me a proper frisking, both physically and magically; I couldn’t have had anything concealed on me. Plus, they have no reason to think the abduction was anticipated, which makes it totally implausible that Ginny was being impersonated at the time she was snatched. Certainly they will be astounded by her escape, but they have no reason to suspect their hostage was anyone other than Ginny Weasley. Sorry, Ginny, but I think I may have earned you the title of the _Witch from Hell_ with Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

“If only they knew!” said Harry, laughing and giving Ginny a cheeky look.

“Watch it, Potter! Or I’ll really give you hell,” she said with a grin.

“Apart from developing a healthy respect for Miss Weasley here, Voldemort will have attributed her escape to the complete and utter incompetence of his Death Eaters; who, I imagine, have all been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse tonight. The Malfoys had left the castle long before I escaped, but I imagine they will have been recalled to endure their Master’s displeasure and explain why they brought the _Witch from Hell_ to destroy his castle and failed to warn him of her fearsome abilities — not to mention why she still had her wand after supposedly being searched by both themselves and Bellatrix Lestrange. Yes, I fear Lucius, Draco, and Bellatrix are all in for a bad night,” he added in mock regret.

“So, did you find out about the Horcruxes?” asked Hermione. “I assume that was why you were so keen on impersonating Ginny.”

“Yes, I had ample opportunity to find out about them — at least as much as Voldemort knows, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry. “He must know everything, right?”

“Unfortunately, not. To start with, he does not know that Slytherin’s locket was removed from the cave and a substitute left in its place.”

“Then there’s no hope of finding it,” said Harry. “We just have to hope that it’s been destroyed. But we’ll never know for sure. Even if we destroy the other two Horcruxes and kill Voldemort there’s no way of knowing if he’s really finished — or whether he’ll come back again.

“Actually, we _will_ know if he’s really finished,” said Hermione. “When Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby, Harry, and was struck by his rebounding Killing Curse, his body disappeared and was never found. All that was left was his wand, which later fell into the hands of his supporters, and some singed grass, suggesting a fiery and spectacular departure. There are several books that speculate about the mystery. The nature of his mystifying demise led several pundits to guess that he had used some unknown magic to make himself immortal — of course they knew nothing about the Horcruxes.”

“So, if all the Horcruxes have been destroyed when he’s killed,” said Ron, “his dead body will be left behind, just like when anyone else dies. But, if there is even one Horcrux left, his body will disappear in a flash of light, like the last time ... and he’ll come back again.”

“Yes, and it won’t take him very long next time, now that he knows how to do it,” said Hermione. “He’s probably prepared instructions for his Death Eaters on how to find him and create a new body.”

“We can’t wait till the end to find out if the Horcrux in Slytherin’s locket has been destroyed,” said Harry. “Because if it hasn’t, it will be too late — if only there was some way of knowing.” 

“There isn’t,” said Jason. “My gut feeling is that it hasn’t been destroyed, and I think we need to proceed on that premise.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Hermione.

“Harry, you will appreciate the painstaking effort that went into creating the elaborate magic protecting the locket in the cave. Voldemort would not have wasted his own time in creating something that elaborate — and he didn’t; he instructed one of his minions to do it. Of course, Voldemort did not tell his servant the locket contained his Horcrux. He planned to kill him once the task in the cave was complete — so that the secret of the locket in the cave would die with him. All of this, I learned from Voldemort’s mind; but what follows is pure conjecture: 

“Given the great effort Voldemort was taking to protect the locket, this person must have realised it was something very important, and he probably became extremely curious about it. From the note he left for Voldemort in the fake locket, it would seem he somehow learned, or guessed, that it contained his Master’s Horcrux. The note implies he suspected Voldemort intended to kill him to protect his secret. Harry will be aware of how tremendously difficult it would have been for anyone to have made it through all of those protections to replace the genuine locket with a fake one.”

“And no one ever did!” said Hermione, excitedly. “His servant put the fake locket, in the stone basin in the cave instead of Slytherin’s locket – which he kept. But, you must have found out from Voldemort who it was?”

“Yes, I did: Regulus Alphard Black — Sirius’ younger brother.”

“R.A.B.,” said Harry. “That’s how the message in the fake locket was signed. Lupin thought Voldemort killed Regulus — or had him killed — because he wanted to get out of the Death Eaters. But it wasn’t that at all; he was killed to keep Slytherin’s locket, and the cave where it was hidden, a secret.”

“He might have destroyed the Horcrux first,” suggested Ron hopefully. “He said he was going to in the note he left in the fake locket.”

“I have checked the few references to Horcruxes that exist in the ancient texts,” replied Jason, “and while some of them contain hints regarding the process of creating a Horcrux, there are no clues about how to destroy one — or even the suggestion that it’s possible. A great wizard, like Dumbledore, may have been able to discover it, but it probably took him quite some time. I cheated through my connection to the _Source_ and having witnessed the exorcism of spirits amongst some obscure tribes in Africa. I doubt very much that Regulus Black discovered how to do it in the short time he had left to live. So we must assume that the Horcrux still exists … somewhere.”

“Maybe he hid it in his parents’ house,” mused Hermione. “I suppose he was still living there.”

“You mean number twelve, Grimmauld Place?” asked Harry.

Hermione nodded, and they all fell silent for a while.

“What does this locket look like? Does anyone know?” asked Ginny.

“I saw it in Dumbledore’s Pensieve,” replied Harry. “It’s a heavy golden locket. It’s got the letter ‘S’ on it. It’s actually —”

“A snake, in the shape of an ‘S’!” cried Ginny. I’ve seen it — we’ve all seen it!”

“What? When?” asked Harry.

“At Grimmauld Place, when Mum made us clean out all the glass-fronted cabinets in the drawing-room. A lot of the stuff was really nasty, like that silver snuffbox that bit Sirius, and was thrown out.”

“Except that Fred and George kept nicking things like that from Sirius’ sack,” recalled Hermione.

“If Kreacher didn’t get them first and smuggle them out under his loincloth,” sniggered Ron.

“But there was nothing nasty about the locket,” said Ginny. “And it didn’t bear the Black family crest or anything like that, which would make Sirius want to biff it — or Kreacher to nick it. Neither would have known that it was an ancient relic of Salazar Slytherin. I’m pretty sure it got put back in one of the cabinets along with the other stuff that wasn’t thrown out.”

“Which means it will still be there, right?” said Ron.

“Wrong,” said Harry. “Remember how I caught Mundungus Fletcher in Hogsmeade with an old suitcase full of stuff he’d stolen from Grimmauld Place? He was flogging it all off. That gold locket would be worth quite a bit, even if you didn’t know it was an ancient relic. I bet he nicked it and flogged it off. It could be anywhere by now.”

“I’m going up shortly to talk to Professor McGonagall,” said Jason. “She needs to know about the abduction attempt. I’ll tell her everything. I’ll also ask her if someone from the Order can search Grimmauld Place for Slytherin’s locket, just in case it’s still there. If it’s not, she may know Mundungus’ whereabouts. I’ve got a few things I need to do — people to catch up with and so on. It seems I might be adding Mundungus to my list. I’ll be away tomorrow afternoon and evening. Hermione, I was hoping you might agree to take my third year Potions class. It’s the only thing I have on Monday afternoons; it’s straight after lunch.”

Hermione blushed. “I have a free period, but I’m not sure how well I’d manage,” she said nervously.

“Perfectly,” said Jason encouragingly. “It will be Gryffindor and Ravenclaw; and the lesson plan is all prepared. They will be brewing a Cheering Concoction, nothing too difficult,” he said reassuringly. 

Hermione smiled; she felt apprehensive. She had seriously thought about teaching as a profession. This would be a chance to see what it was like.

“What about the other two Horcruxes?” asked Harry, keen to get back to the main game. “Professor Dumbledore thought Voldemort might have used his snake, Nagini, for one.”

“Yes, I remember you telling me that. He thought it might explain the high degree of control Voldemort has over the snake. And I had this wonderful plan of waiting until everyone in the castle was asleep, materialising to wherever Nagini was hanging out, transfiguring her into a cute little Pygmy Puff, and popping her in my pocket and bringing her back here to Hogwarts for another exorcism ritual. But, as Dumbledore told you, it is rather risky concealing a Horcrux in a living thing, and Voldemort, it seems, came to the same conclusion. In fact, with each successive Horcrux, he became more cautious and more paranoid, and consequently, made them increasingly difficult to get at.”

“More difficult than burying them in a time capsule set in the concrete foundations a hundred feet beneath a skyscraper?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, _much_ more difficult; but perhaps we can leave it for another time. Before I tell you about the final two Horcruxes I need to do a little research. Hopefully, I might manage to do that tomorrow. I don’t know about you lot, but I’m utterly shagged. I’ve had quite a day. Harry, you should get that message from Voldemort as soon as you return to Gryffindor Tower; it was sent off well before my escape. The only reason you haven’t received it yet is because owls don’t come down here. Please keep the message somewhere safe.”

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Just in case,” replied Jason in that vague, annoying way of his. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Their last lesson on Monday afternoon was Transfiguration with Tonks. Today they were attempting to transfigure their desks into dachshunds. Harry and Hermione had very quickly mastered it, and Tonks had them transfiguring their dogs into dormice. Harry had just succeeded when a nervous first-year student knocked on the door with a note for him from the Headmistress. It asked him to bring the message from Voldemort up to her office immediately. Tonks excused him, and he dashed off to his dormitory to get it.

When he arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress’ office, Harry realised he didn’t know the password; obviously it was not going to be _lemon drop_ or anything like that. While Harry was wondering what to do, the gargoyle jumped aside and the stone wall split in two, allowing him to step through and onto the revolving stone stairway. When he reached the top, the door to the office opened to reveal an unexpected scene. Professor McGonagall’s desk had been elongated. Sitting behind it on one side of her were three ancient-looking witches; three equally ancient-looking wizards, their long white beards brushing the desktop, sat on her other side. In front of them, sitting at one end of a small, rectangular table, was Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Deputy Headmaster. In front of the table were two long wooden benches. Harry noticed Ginny sitting alone on the back one.

“Please be seated, Potter. Everything will be explained,” said Professor McGonagall, motioning for him to join Ginny.

Before Harry could ask Ginny what it was all about, Professor McGonagall waved her wand at the door, which opened to admit Percy Weasley, followed closely by twelve Aurors. He looked around the office, clearly confused. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“Please, be seated Mr Weasley,” she replied, indicating a chair at the opposite end of the rectangular table from Professor Flitwick. “Your protection squad may sit on the front bench,” she said.

“I demand to know what is going on here,” he protested pompously. “I informed you by official Ministry owl, that I was coming to arrest Miss Ginevra Weasley. What is the meaning of this?” 

“Sit down, Weasley,” she said sternly, reverting to her austere school mistress tone, “and all will be revealed.” Reluctantly, Percy took the seat opposite Flitwick and motioned to his Aurors to be seated.

“Upon receiving your owl, I consulted the regulations pertaining to the arrest of a Hogwarts student. As you may imagine, such instances are rare indeed. In fact, I cannot recall it ever happening in all my forty years as a teacher at this school. The regulations stipulate that in the case of an underage student — one who has not yet attained the age of seventeen years — a certain procedure must be observed before this school, into whose care the student has been entrusted, can allow the student to be placed in the custody of any other person or agency.”

“Yes, yes, this is all very well,” snapped Percy impatiently, “but this does not apply to the Ministry of Magic, which has jurisdiction —”

“But indeed it does apply to the Ministry of Magic. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the charter containing these regulations predate the existence of the Ministry of Magic by several centuries. As Headmistress of this school, I am bound by these regulations … they must be observed. I would have thought that you, of all people, Mr Weasley, would appreciate the importance and primacy of rules and regulations,” she added with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“Very well, then. But hurry up and get on with it, I haven’t got all day. What is this procedure?”

“Simply this: If the student is underage — as Miss Weasley is; and if he or she does not wish to be handed over to a third party — which she does not; and if her parents or legal guardians do not wish her to be handed over — which they do not; then that party must satisfy a tribunal made up of a quorum of Hogwarts governors that a prima facie case exists against the student.”

“But, this is preposterous,” spluttered Percy. “Why should I have to convince anyone of anything? The Ministry of Magic has the right —”

“Have you not been listening to the Headmistress?” demanded a grumpy old wizard sitting next to McGonagall. “You do not have that right! “You have to convince us that she’s done something to warrant her arrest. You cannot simply come waltzing into this school and haul its students off to Azkaban willy-nilly —”

“Or hand them over to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for a big bag of gold,” cut in a suspicious-looking old witch.

“I refuse to listen to the Ministry of Magic being so outrageously maligned, I —”

“Then do something about it!” demanded another old witch. “Stop behaving like a public relations agency for You-Know-Who!”

“Now, see here —”

Headmistress McGonagall banged a heavy wooden gavel on her desk. “Silence! I hereby call this tribunal to order. Professor Flitwick will act as scribe to the tribunal and record the proceedings.”

“What? Is this going to be recorded?” asked Percy, nervously.

“Oh yes, indeed,” replied McGonagall, smiling. “The regulations quite clearly stipulate that the proceedings of all extraordinary tribunals, such as this, must be faithfully recorded and archived as part of the Hogwarts school records. Since such tribunals are so rare, it may be assumed that today’s proceedings will be of some interest to future generations of scholars and historians. You may even be fortunate enough to earn yourself a place in _Hogwarts, a History_ ,” Mr Weasley. “Let us hope it is not an ignominious one. Now please proceed and state the charges against the student.”

“W-What charges?” blurted out Percy, clearly unnerved.

The witches and wizards of the tribunal looked at him dumbfounded. “Do you mean to tell us that you have come to this school to arrest a student without knowing the charges against them?” asked an astonished Professor McGonagall.

“Well, err … yes, of course I know … err, a complaint was laid against her by….”

“Go on, Weasley, who laid this complaint?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge the name of the complainant,” blustered Percy.

“In that case, I am not at liberty to hand over Miss Weasley,” replied McGonagall coolly.

Percy remained silent for some time, desperately trying to decide what to do. There would be hell to pay if he returned without her. All eyes were on him. “The complaint came from a member of one of our pre-eminent Wizarding families: a Mr Lucius Malfoy,” he finally said, looking away from the tribunal, which snorted at hearing the name.

“Lucius Malfoy?” demanded McGonagall incredulously. “Lucius Malfoy the Death Eater? Lucius Malfoy who was convicted of breaking into the Ministry of Magic a little over a year ago and sent to Azkaban?”

“Now, see here,” protested Percy, bristling. “Mr Malfoy has been pardoned by the Minister of Magic, himself; you may not go around impugning his name and calling him a criminal.”

“As I recall,” said one of the witches, “that coward Fudge released Malfoy along with all the other Death Eaters in Azkaban as a _good will_ _gesture_ to You-Know-Who — _and_ a pile of gold, no doubt. Letting them out of prison does not overturn their original convictions; Fudge does not have the authority to do that. So they are all still convicted criminals — Malfoy included.”

“Yes, well … err, Ministry policy —”

McGonagall banged her gavel again. “Silence! You do not need to defend the Ministry to this tribunal, Weasley — that would take too long — and it is clearly indefensible. Please proceed to state Mr Malfoy’s complaint against this student — if indeed you know what it is.”

“Of course I know!” said Percy. “In fact, there are several complaints. Firstly, she is accused of using an Unforgivable Curse; secondly, of destroying several dozen valuable creatures; and thirdly, of causing serious and wilful damage to a castle.” Percy looking around and smiled smugly.

“Well go on, Weasley, give us the details,” snapped McGonagall. “What was the Unforgivable Curse, when and where was it used, and against whom?”

“It was the Cruciatus Curse,” replied Percy. “It was used yesterday, against, err, Mr Fenrir Greyback.”

“Fenrir Greyback — the Death Eater werewolf — who broke into this school?” asked McGonagall coldly. “Who attacked Hogwarts staff and students — and almost killed your brother William Weasley?”

“Err … I know nothing about those particular allegations, and anyway an Unforgivable Curse is an Unforgivable Curse, regardless of who it is directed against.”

“You have not yet told us _where_ the offence took place.”

“Err, it was in a castle.”

“Whose castle?” demanded McGonagall.

“You-Know-Who’s,” replied Percy.

“And where exactly is this castle?”

“How should I know!” snapped Percy. “You know perfectly well that no one knows where it is!” 

“Yes, I do,” replied McGonagall. “Miss Weasley, how do you plead?”

“Innocent,” said Ginny, rising briefly.

“Please come forward and pass me your wand, Miss Weasley,” she said, taking it from her and looking at Percy. “Are any of your Aurors proficient in the spells used to identify a wand’s owner and to determine whether it has been used for an Unforgivable Curse, Mr Weasley?”

“Yes, off course,” said Percy suspiciously.

McGonagall looked enquiringly at the Aurors; one of them stood up to indicate that he knew the spells. “Please test it,” she said, handing him the wand.

He touched his wand to Ginny’s and uttered several incantations before handing the wand back to the Headmistress. “The wand belongs to Miss Ginevra Weasley, and it has never been used for the Cruciatus or any other Unforgivable Curse,” he said, shrugging his shoulders when Percy turned to glare at him.

“It seems that Mr Malfoy may have misinformed you,” said McGonagall, mockingly.

“Nonsense, I have a signed statement from Mr Greyback that he was the victim of a Cruciatus Curse yesterday!” said Percy.

“A wizard whose word is his bond, no doubt,” said McGonagall, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Have you anything further to say in your defence, Miss Weasley?”

“Yes, Headmistress. It is true that Fenrir Greyback was the victim of a Cruciatus Curse yesterday, but it was not my curse. It was Bellatrix Lestrange who cast it.”

“Lies and nonsense!” cried Percy, jumping to his feet. “Mrs Lestrange is … err, an associate of the victim. Why on earth would she curse him?”

“A very good question,” replied McGonagall. “And fortunately, one with which this tribunal need not concern itself. Simply repeat the test on Mrs Lestrange’s wand, and you will have your answer.”

“Impossible!” said Percy.

“Impossible?” asked McGonagall innocently. “A very serious allegation has been made to this tribunal — and recorded by its scribe. If Mrs Lestrange did, in fact, use an Unforgivable Curse, it would earn her a life sentence in Azkaban. Are you saying the Ministry of Magic will not be pursuing the matter?

“No, it will not!” snapped Percy. “We do not have the resources to pursue every wild accusation —”

“Yet you do have the resources to pursue the accusations of a convicted criminal against a sixteen-year-old student — your own sister, in fact — how remarkable, Mr Weasley!”

“I must insist that you stop calling Mr Malfoy a _convicted criminal_. I demand that you remove all such references from the official transcript. And I absolutely insist that you remove the accusation against Mrs Lestrange from the transcript, as well.”

“Unfortunately, that will not be possible, Mr Weasley. You see, it constitutes part of Miss Weasley’s defence against the charge you have levelled against her. It could only be removed from the tribunal transcript if the charge were dropped,” said the Headmistress, staring down at him over her glasses, with her eyebrows raised questioningly.

Percy sat down again and umm-ed and ah-ed for a while before replying angrily, “The charge of using an Unforgivable Curse is withdrawn — but not the other two charges. They still stand!”

“The second charge, as I recall, is that Miss Weasley destroyed several dozen valuable creatures. What kind of creatures were they, Mr Weasley?”

“Err … Dementors.”

“Dementors?”

“Yes, Dementors!”

“Which were _where_ , exactly?”

“Err … at the castle.”

“You-Know-Who’s castle?”

“Yes.”

“And what were they doing there?”

“I don’t know! Guarding it, I suppose.”

“Yes, but why were they _there_ , at his castle?”

“I don’t see the point of your question,” replied Percy warily.

“Well, as I understand it, the Dementors belong to the Ministry of Magic and were used to guard Azkaban. But about a year ago, they were stolen, kidnapped, spirited away from the prison.”

“What has that got to do with the matter?” asked Percy weakly.

“Let me be clear on this, Mr Weasley. Do you wish to state, on the official transcript of this tribunal, that He-Who-Must-Be-Named was responsible for the theft of valuable Ministry servants; and, that furthermore, he now has them in his possession? Do you wish the scribe of this tribunal to record your accusation of theft and the possession of stolen Ministry property against You-Know-Who?”

“No!” blurted Percy, holding his head in his hands.

“Then you wish to drop the second charge also?” asked McGonagall innocently.

“Yes, yes! Drop it, drop it!”

“Very good,” replied McGonagall, “and the third charge, about damaging the castle?”

“The third charge stands!” said Percy angrily.

“You stated earlier, Mr Weasley, that the location of this castle, which sustained the damage, is unknown. It is, in fact, the hideout of You-Know-Who and his gang. Presumably it is unplottable and subject to all manner of enchantments and protections.”

“It may well be, but what of it?” demanded Percy. “That makes it no less an offence to damage it!”

“Quite so,” agreed McGonagall. “But it must be assumed that it is only possible to reach this castle at the express wish and with the assistance of its owner or his minions.”

“I do not see the relevance of this,” said Percy apprehensively.

“How could Miss Weasley have possibly found this castle and entered it in order to damage it?” asked McGonagall.

“I have no idea — it’s completely immaterial.”

“On the contrary, it is very material,” she replied. “You see, Miss Weasley claims she did not go to You-Know-Who’s castle with the intention of causing wilful damage. In fact, she did not go to the castle willingly, _at all_. She claims she was stunned and kidnapped from the Hogwarts Quidditch changing rooms yesterday by Miss Pansy Parkinson. Miss Parkinson then took her to the school gates, concealed beneath an Invisibility Cloak, where she was handed over to Mr Draco Malfoy. He took her to Malfoy Manor where she was briefly imprisoned before being taken by him and his father, Mr Lucius Malfoy, to the castle in question. There, she was imprisoned by You-Know-Who, in order to lure Harry Potter to his death. Fortunately, she was able to escape, and in so doing caused some collateral damage to the castle — but it was not wilful. I think you will find, if you consult the relevant Ministry laws, that it is the right of every witch and wizard to escape illegal detention, and no blame may be attached to any unintentional damage caused in the attempt. I should mention that the so-called valuable creatures — the Dementors — endeavoured to prevent her escaping and consequently perished.

There were cries of “bravo” and “well done, young lady” from the portraits of the previous Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses who had been keenly observing the proceedings from their pictures on the walls. The members of the tribunal would have joined in the cheering with equal enthusiasm had the tribunal not been in session.

“Lies, she is lying!” screamed Percy over the congratulations. “It is all unsubstantiated lies!”

“Ah, but it is not,” said Professor McGonagall with a smug smile. “It is not at all unsubstantiated. I had Miss Parkinson’s trunk searched yesterday night. These two Invisibility cloaks, used in the abduction, were found,” she said, holding them up. “We also found this message from Mr Draco Malfoy, instructing Miss Parkinson on exactly what she was required to do. Interestingly, it included an instruction for her to destroy the message; however, it seems that Miss Parkinson’s fondness for Mr Malfoy prevented her from doing so. Professor Flitwick, please record the contents of Mr Malfoy’s message. Miss Parkinson has, of course, been suspended from Hogwarts pending a hearing of the board of governors.”

“Even if this absurd fabrication against Miss Parkinson were true, and Miss Weasley was abducted from Hogwarts, as she pretends, it does not constitute proof that she was ever at Malfoy Manor or taken to the castle against her will,” said Percy defiantly.

“I can see you would like further proof, Mr Weasley, and you shall have it,” said McGonagall, smiling ominously. “While imprisoned at Malfoy Manor, Miss Weasley heard several things that will be of great interest to the Ministry.”

“All lies, no doubt,” insisted Percy.

“Fortunately, there is at least once piece of information that can be very easily verified,” said McGonagall.

“How?” demanded Percy.

“I believe Ministry Aurors have the authority to demand to see Gringotts financial records. Is that correct?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Percy. “But what on earth can that have to do with the matter-at-hand?”

“Miss Weasley has made a sworn statement, which I have given to the tribunal scribe to record, in which she states that while imprisoned at Malfoy Manor she heard Mr Lucius Malfoy inform his son, Draco, of a standing order for a vault-to-vault transfer of ten thousand galleons on the first of every month, from his own vault to that of one Cornelius Fudge.”

There was an uproar; cries of “shame”, “corruption”, and “scandal”, came from the witches and wizards of the tribunal along with the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses. Even Percy seemed stunned at the magnitude of the bribe — clearly he knew nothing about it. But like a good little minion, he defended his boss vigorously. “Lies, all lies!” he screamed.

“There is no need to yell and scream like a petulant child, Weasley,” chided McGonagall. “The truth of the allegation can be easily determined: dispatch one of your Aurors to Gringotts, immediately. They can be back in ten minutes — the tribunal will be happy to wait — and give you the opportunity to clear Fudge’s name.”

“No! Err … they can’t be spared. I need them here for my personal protection. I deny this preposterous accusation. It is too absurd to warrant the trouble of proving it false,” he blustered.

“I see,” said McGonagall scornfully. “Well then, let us turn to the final piece of evidence in Miss Weasley’s defence that she was, in fact, escaping captivity. It is a note from You-Know-Who. Potter, please hand it to me. Thank you. I shall read it to the tribunal: 

_“Harry Potter,_

_I am holding Ginny Weasley captive. The price of her freedom is yourself._

_I swear a binding Wizard’s Oath that she will be released, unharmed, if you come to me immediately and alone._

_This evening, go to the Hog’s Head and ask the bartender for a package bearing the initials GLV. Inside you will find a Portkey to bring you to me._

_Affixed to this parchment you will find a lock of her hair — as proof that I have her. If you do not come to save her, you will receive another message tomorrow — along with one of her fingers, the next day a hand, then a foot, and so on. Come quickly, while there is still something left to rescue._

_Lord Voldemort.”_

Mr Weasley, I believe it is a simple matter to verify the validity of the handwriting and the signature; any one of your Aurors can do that for the tribunal, no doubt. When will you be pressing charges against You-Know-Who for the abduction and kidnapping of a minor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” screamed Percy. “You know very well the Minister of Magic has initiated a policy of … err, détente. I absolutely insist that all charges relating to You-Know-Who — and Lucius Malfoy — and references to transfers between Gringotts vaults, be deleted from the transcript.”

This was greeted by jeers of derision from both the tribunal and the former Headmasters and Headmistresses along with cries of “shame!” and “cowardly cur!”

“So you wish to drop the third and final charge, also?” inquired Professor McGonagall, smiling sweetly.

“Yes!” spat Percy in frustration.

The old wizard on McGonagall’s right, rose slowly to his feet. “This tribunal finds that Miss Ginevra Weasley has no case to answer and will not be handed over to the Ministry of Magic.”

“I declare this tribunal closed,” said Professor McGonagall, banging her gavel.

Percy didn’t know what to do. Malfoy would be furious if he returned empty-handed. He turned and whispered to the Aurors. They jumped to their feet, drawing their wands. “Blast anyone who goes for their wand,” ordered Percy. “I will not have the Ministry of Magic made a mockery of,” he said. Then pointing his wand at Ginny, he said, “Incarcerous _._ You’re coming with us. Everyone stay still, or you’ll be stunned and arrested.” Thick ropes now bound Ginny’s hands and feet.

“Shame, criminals, thugs!” yelled the members of the tribunal and the former Headmasters and Headmistresses from their portraits. Suddenly, there was the smell of smoke, and Percy and his Aurors hastily dropped their wands, which had unaccountably burst into flames. Percy looked accusingly around the room, but no one had moved or drawn a wand — at least not until then. 

McGonagall pointed her wand at Ginny. “Finite Incantatum,” she said, freeing her from the ropes. Then pointing it menacingly at Percy, she said, “You had better go now, Weasley, along with your Aurors. Do not bother to request admittance to this school again, either for yourself, your Aurors or any other member of the current corrupt administration — it will not be granted. Now get out!” They hurried, humiliated and defeated, from the Headmistress’ office.

Professor McGonagall returned Ginny’s wand to her with a warm smile and dismissed her, along Harry. 

When they reached the bottom of the stairs Ginny turned to Harry. “You know, there’s absolutely no point in pretending we’re not together anymore. Voldemort knows we’re an item — so maybe we should start acting like one.” She threw her arms around Harry and hugged him. “I was so afraid up there that my horrible brother Percy was going to drag me away from Hogwarts and hand me over to Malfoy — knowing full-well he’d give me to Voldemort and it would be the end of me — or worse. How could he do that to his own sister?”

“Because he’s a heartless git who’ll do whatever it takes to advance his career, including sacrificing his whole family, if he has to,” said Harry angrily. “But don’t worry, Ginny. One day I’ll get even with him for what he tried to do to you.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” said Ginny defiantly. “That pleasure will be all mine! One day when he doesn’t have his Aurors or his office to hide behind, he’s going to get the Bat-Bogie Hex from Hell. If you want to curse the git, you’re going to have to stand in line behind me and all my brothers. But Harry, what happened up there in McGonagall’s office when Percy and his Aurors pulled their wands? Was Jason up there invisibly or something? I thought he was supposed to be away from Hogwarts.”

“He is,” replied Harry.

Ginny stopped and looked Harry in the eye. “It was you who saved me. You incinerated their wands without even using your own — didn’t you?”

Harry smiled.

That’s pretty bloody amazing, Mr Potter! Wow, I didn’t realise how powerful you’d become.” 

“Yeah, well, Jason and Lupin told me to keep my powers hidden. Obviously McGonagall will guess it was me; but every one else will think it was McGonagall or Flitwick or maybe the tribunal members — they could have been using their wands under the table.”

“I think we need to take a detour on the way to the Great Hall,” said Ginny, putting her arm around Harry. “We’ve got plenty of time till tea … I need to give you a proper thank you for saving me.” 


	12. Rowena Ravenclaws Wand

_**Chapter 12 ~ Rowena Ravenclaw’s Wand** _

“Well done, Harry,” said Jason after listening to Ginny and Harry recount the details of the tribunal the previous afternoon. They were sitting in the Potion master’s office along with Ron and Hermione. “You did well to disarm them all without giving yourself away. Your ability to connect to the _Source_ has increased remarkably. It’s time to begin teaching you some of the more advanced magic I have picked up in my travels.”

“Do you think I’m really ready for it?”

“For some of it, yes. And even if you are not yet able to perform all the spells properly, you will know how to use them when your magical power is sufficiently strong. You are making excellent progress, but you need to keep working with the meditation to forge a permanent link to the _Source_. Anyway, I think you’re ready for the Metamorphmagus spell.”

“But Tonks said you have to be born a Metamorphmagus, like her — that you can’t learn to be one,” said Hermione.

“That’s true,” replied Jason. “I can’t make Harry a Metamorphmagus. But I can teach him some magic I learned in Bhutan, which lets you change your body in much the same way, just as I did when I impersonated Ginny. I just called it the Metamorphmagus spell because the result is similar. Once you have mastered the basic spell, Harry, I’ll ask Tonks to teach you the finer points of the art of shape-shifting.”

Harry nodded. “OK. So, did you learn anything about Slytherin’s locket, yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. Just as you suspected, Mundungus Fletcher stole it along with other valuables from Grimmauld Place. With Professor McGonagall’s help, I tracked Mundungus down and _learned_ that he’d flogged it off to one of his criminal mates, a fence by the name of Fingers McFadden, for twelve Galleons. McFadden took it to Borgin and Burkes. Unlike Fletcher and McFadden, Mr Borgin knew exactly what it was … and from whom it was originally stolen many years ago. McFadden was happy to get twenty Galleons for it. Borgin could not display it for sale because it was stolen, but that was never his intention. 

“It was quite an afternoon: the trail led me from Mundungus to McFadden and then on to Borgin and Burkes. My next stop after Knockturn Alley was Malfoy Manor, this time as an _invisible guest_. You see, Mr Borgin contacted Lucius Malfoy, who, as he guessed, was extremely eager to possess this ancient relic of Salazar Slytherin. Malfoy also knew it was stolen and that he would need to be discreet with it, but that didn’t bother him. On the contrary, it knocked several thousand Galleons off the purchase price. Although he did not know it contained his Master’s Horcrux, or indeed, that his Master had once possessed it, he could easily guess how eager Voldemort would be to have this relic of his revered ancestor. However, Malfoy was greedy to keep Slytherin’s locket for himself. He, too, is a great admirer of Salazar Slytherin. Moreover, the locket represented a very good investment and a significant addition to the Malfoy collection of heirlooms and antiquities. But most importantly, it constituted an invaluable insurance policy. If things ever got really sticky with Voldemort, and his life was in danger, it could always be presented to his Master in the expectation of it earning him a pardon.”

“Aren’t things sufficiently sticky for him right now after the fiasco with _Ginny_?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, I would have thought so,” replied Jason. “As the ones who brought him the _Witch from Hell,_ who destroyed his Dementors, seriously damaged his castle, and comprehensively humiliated him, Lucius and Draco must both be in great danger right now. They will be blamed, along with Bellatrix, for not properly disarming _Ginny_ and for her escape. He must be deeply mortified — the great Lord Voldemort outwitted and out-gunned by a school girl — definitely not a good look for a Dark Lord. And then there are Lucius’ and Draco’s previous failures in his service. I think they both have very good reason to be fearful for their futures right now. Indeed, I found Lucius extremely eager to present Slytherin’s locket to his Master at his earliest convenience. He was anxiously waiting for Voldemort to calm down enough to be safely approached. Unfortunately, Lucius is in for a terrible disappointment when he goes to retrieve the locket from the secret vault beneath the library floor,” said Jason with a wide grin, as he reached into his pocket and removed a heavy golden locket with a serpent in the shape of the letter ‘S’ on it. He passed it around for them to examine.

When Ron passed it back to him, Jason placed it on his desk. “I have invented an incantation to go with the spell to destroy a Horcrux.”

“But why?” asked Hermione. “You didn’t need one to destroy the Horcrux in Hufflepuff’s cup.”

“No, Hermione, I don’t need one; but you and Harry will.” Before Hermione or Harry could ask him what he meant, Jason continued. “The incantation is _Animus Liberta_. Point your wand at the object and visualise the part-soul trapped within, breaking free, and returning to the _Source._ Hermione, would you care to do the honours?”

Hermione’s face became a mask of concentration as she pointed her wand at Slytherin’s locket. “Animus Liberta,” she said. The chain jangled softly on the table, gently vibrating before a wispy cloud of white mist rose from the locket, continuing upwards for a few feet before dissolving.

“Well done, Hermione,” said Jason, gesturing towards the locket and transfiguring it into a very ordinary-looking wooden bookend. He placed it on top of his bookshelf at the end of a row of books. At the other end of the row was an identical bookend. “These two innocuous-looking bookends are Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup. They are the lawful property of the beneficiaries of Hepzibah Smith’s estate; but for obvious reasons, they cannot be returned, just yet. When Voldemort is finally finished, they will be restored to their rightful owners.”

“So that makes four,” said Harry with a sense of satisfaction. “What about the last two Horcruxes?” 

“Dumbledore was quite right in thinking Voldemort would go for items that were once the possessions of the Hogwarts Founders. Horcrux number five is concealed in a wand that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“But that’s not possible; the wand was destroyed!” said Hermione emphatically. “Anthony Goldstein told me; he’s a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“What? With a name like Goldstein?” asked Ron sceptically.

“Anthony’s mother is directly descended from Rowena Ravenclaw along the female line,” explained Hermione. “Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand has been passed down from mother to eldest daughter for a thousand years. It’s a family secret; there are no references to the the wand or the tradition of the wand-bearer in any of the history books, although somehow Voldemort found out about it. Anthony’s grandmother was the wand-bearer during Voldemort’s first reign of terror. Death Eaters, led by Rodolphus Lestrange, attacked her house because Voldemort wanted the wand. But before they could kill her and take the wand, she destroyed it rather than let it fall into Voldemort’s hands. So —”

“So Voldemort can’t have used it for a Horcrux!” finished Harry, impatiently, wondering what the hell Jason was on about.

“But he did,” replied Jason mysteriously, “but not in this reality.”

“What?” the four students demanded.

“I told you how Voldemort became increasingly paranoid about hiding the last Horcruxes. He was determined to make it as difficult as possible — no, that’s a bit of an understatement. He was determined to make it _impossible_ to get to them. He discovered a way of travelling to another reality, one in which Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand had not been destroyed. He created the Horcrux in that reality and concealed it in the wand.”

“Err … what do you mean by _another reality_?” asked Harry.

“A good question,” replied Jason. “I was unaware of the existence of such things myself until I encountered Voldemort’s memory of travelling to one. Yesterday, I visited the Great Library at the Ministry of Magic and spent several hours researching the subject. There are references to multiple realities, although very few, and most are of a speculative nature. I could find no documented cases of anyone actually experiencing one first hand … of travelling to it.”

“So what, exactly, are multiple realities?” asked Ginny.

“They are extremely rare. It seems they can sometimes come into existence when human history reaches a crucial crossroads, where two very different futures are possible, and some fundamental event will determine which of them comes about.”

“When did this parting of the two realities happen? What was the event?” asked Hermione suspiciously.

“I think you’ve already guessed,” said Jason. “You were there when it happened. I was there, too, and of course, so was Harry. The event was Lily Evans meeting her son, Harry Potter, in the Shrieking Shack twenty years ago. In that moment, she knew if she married James Potter, the _Future of Hope_ — our reality — would prevail.” 

“Do you mean her choice created the two realities?” asked Ginny.

“No. The two realities always existed. Lily didn’t create them — although ultimately, it was her decision which determined which one became real.”

“Did it have anything to do with the fact that Lily was a Seer?” asked Hermione.

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Jason. “Multiple realities can exist without a Seer having a premonition of them. But Seers are, it seems, very sensitive to multiple realities; particularly, when they, themselves, are involved. What was unique in this case is that Lily was the one whose decision would ultimately determine which reality became the authentic one.”

“But, this other reality still exists, so what difference did her choice make?” asked Ron, confused.

“All the difference in the world: Her choice ensured that this reality, the _Future of Hope,_ would prevail. The other reality she saw in her visions, the _Future of Darkness_ , is now nothing but a dream, a shadow, a blueprint of a possible future that never eventuated.”

“But how could Voldemort have travelled to it if it’s not real? How can his Horcrux be concealed in a dream?” objected Hermione.

“A very good question. It seems that an unknown witch using some means of trans-reality Divination, almost certainly dark magic, became aware of the other reality — although only after the point of divergence — after Lily had made her choice. Voldemort learned about it from one of his Death Eaters, who was an acquaintance of the witch. He immediately realised this other reality would make the perfect hiding place for a Horcrux, and he had both the witch and the Death Eater who brought him the information killed so that he would be the only one who knew about it. He then began searching for a spell, which would allow him to visit the other reality.”

“But how is that possible?” asked Ginny. “How can you visit something that does not exist — that’s just a dream?”

“The _Future of Darkness_ is, as you say, a dream — but it is, in fact, a little more substantial than that. An ordinary dream vanishes when the dreamer comes to the end of it, or awakens. Even an extraordinary dream that you remember vividly, or that recurs frequently, exists in your mind alone. But these _might-have-been_ realities exist independently of a Seer, like Lily or the kind of magic this other witch used to stumble upon it. You might think of them as _ghost realities_. Our reality is truly alive, whereas these other realities are like ghosts. A ghost is the shadow, or remnant, of someone who once lived. You have all seen Nearly Headless Nick and the other Hogwarts ghosts. While they are no longer alive, they still exist in some sense. Just as most people cannot see ghosts, only a very small number of magical folk are able to perceive these ghost realities.”

“But hang on,” said Ron. “There must be a He-Who-Must- … err, a Voldemort, in this other reality; so if the one from our reality found some magic that let him travel to this other reality, then there would have been two You-Know- … Voldemorts, there. How would that work?”

“It’s not like using a Time-Turner, where your body physically leaves one time and appears in another. It wouldn’t be possible to physically visit a dream reality, because … well, it’s not physically real. From what I could gather from Voldemort’s memory of it, the magic he discovered allowed him to enter this other reality as if he were dreaming. In a normal dream, you do not know you are asleep and dreaming. However, when a _dreamer_ magically visits another reality, they soon become aware they are dreaming. They experience the knowledge and memories of themselves in both the dream reality and the reality of the _dreamer_. The _dreamer_ effectively takes control of their _dream self_. Confused yet?”

“No, it makes sense,” said Hermione. “And no doubt you got the spell to travel to this dream reality from Voldemort’s mind. But you can’t use it, can you? Well, at least not the same way Voldemort did, to take control of his dream self, because you don’t exist in the dream reality.”

“Exactly,” said Jason. “The dream reality is Lily’s _Future of Darkness_. We both died before the time it was _visited_ by Voldemort to conceal his Horcrux.”

“And Harry was never born in that reality,” reflected Hermione, “because Lily stayed with you. If Voldemort triumphed, then Ron and Ginny’s parents almost certainly died as well, as they were both in the Order. And Ron and Ginny were probably never born.”

“What?” demanded Ron, sounding somewhat affronted. 

“The two realities divided on February 10th, 1977, the day Lily saw her son, Harry, and finally made her decision,” explained Jason. “But the difference between the realities would have been quite marginal, and isolated to myself, Lily, and James Potter; and to a lesser extent our families, friends, and associates. The point at which they became significantly different was four and a half years later, on October 31st, 1981, the night Voldemort tried to kill Harry and disappeared for fourteen years, in this reality.” 

“But,” reflected Hermione, “in the other reality, the _Future of Darkness_ , there was no Harry Potter, and so Voldemort didn’t disappear; and soon afterwards he triumphed. Which means … everyone who was born — no, not born, _conceived_ — before February 10th, 1977, and who was not killed, should be alive in the dream reality.”

“Which includes me and Ginny, if the difference was only marginal until October 31st, 1981, and only affected a few people,” said Ron, grinning at Hermione snootily.

“But two of those people, Harry’s parents, were members of the Order of the Phoenix — in our reality at least,” replied Hermione. “In the dream reality, Lily may not have been a member, or maybe Jason was. James Potter was almost certainly a member, but he wasn’t married to Lily. That means that people’s availability would have been different. They might have been assigned different tasks, and some meetings were probably held at different times and so on. That would have affected the lives of other members — like your parents, Ron — they would have been doing different things at the same moment in the two realities … like, err ... well, you know what ….”

“No,” replied Ron, blankly. “What?”

“We are talking about the kind of activities that result in babies. Do I need to draw you a picture?” asked Hermione in exasperation.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” said Ron, turning bright red.

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued. “In our reality, Lily and James would not have joined the Order until after they finished school, in late 1977, by which time Fred and George had been conceived; but they probably joined before either you or Ginny were conceived.”

“So what?” said Ron, feeling increasingly queasy and uncomfortable about the direction the conversation was taking.

“Well, if your conception in the dream reality happened the month before, or an hour later — or even a second later than it did in this reality, the you in the dream reality would not be the same person … as _you_!”

“Huh?” said Ron.

“Obviously you don’t know anything about genetics or, umm … sexual reproduction,” said Hermione.

“Stop! Stop!” exclaimed Ron, going bright red and holding up both hands. “I do _not_ want a sex education lesson from you, Hermione — and definitely not now,” he said looking around at Ginny, Harry, and Jason who were all looking hugely amused.

“What I think Hermione is trying to say,” said Jason, “is that if you had been conceived even a moment earlier or later, then you would be quite a different person. In fact, you may be two people — twins — or a girl, or shorter, perhaps even studious, whatever — but you would be someone completely different. The only thing we can say with any degree of confidence is that you would probably have red hair,” he added with a grin. “It is most unlikely that the children conceived by those whose lives crossed Harry’s parents’ from about 1978 onwards, plus everyone conceived in the wizarding world after October 31st, 1981, would have been conceived at the same moment in both realities — hence the same person could not exist in both.”

“Which means that none of us can be alive in the ghost reality,” said Ginny.

“No,” said Jason. “One of us is almost certainly alive in that reality.”

“Oh! Of course!” exclaimed Hermione. “Me! But —”

“Why you?” demanded Ron, resentfully.

“Because events in the wizarding and the Muggle worlds are almost totally separate,” explained Jason.

“They are in this reality,” said Ron, “because the wizarding world goes to a lot of trouble to keep itself secret. But if Voldemort won in the other reality, he might have begun attacking the Muggles, big-time. He might have tried to kill them all, or enslave them, or something.”

“Yes, that’s certainly a possibility,” said Jason. “But I think he would go about it methodically. He would first want to purify the wizarding world and then build up its numbers. It might take many years, generations even, before he would be ready to embark on a campaign against the Muggles; and until that time, he would want to keep the wizarding world hidden. I think we can safely assume that up to the time Hermione was conceived — and probably for many years afterwards — life in the Muggle world was pretty much identical in both realities.”

“Things would sure be different for my aunt and uncle, and my cousin Dudley, in the other reality,” reflected Harry. “The Durseys would be a lot happier without me.”

“And my life, after the age of eleven, would be completely different,” reflected Hermione. “If Voldemort took over, Muggle-borns would not receive their Hogwarts letters when they turn eleven. I wonder if the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad would even bother to detect accidental magic performed by Muggle-borns and to memory-charm them.”

“Probably not,” guessed Jason. “Voldemort and his Death Eaters, with their pure-blood prejudices, would not even consider them as being magical — just Muggle freaks. You do know what this means, Hermione, don’t you?” he asked with a smile.

“I hope not,” she said warily.

“You are the only one of us who can travel to the dream reality to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux.”

“But, I won’t even know I’m a witch in the dream reality. In fact, I must be pretty confused if I sometimes perform accidental magic and don’t get memory-charmed to forget about it. And I won’t be at Hogwarts. I won’t know any spells or magic or anything. So how will I be able to destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux? Or am I supposed to bring it back with me?”

“Well, firstly, when you travel to the dream reality you, the _dreamer_ , will have all the knowledge and magical ability you have developed here. Once you take control of your dream self, you — the Hermione in the dream world — will be a very powerful witch. Secondly, you cannot physically take anything with you or bring anything back; you must destroy the Horcrux in the dream reality. The big problem is going to be finding it.”

“But surely you know where it is? You must have got that from Voldemort’s memory,” said Harry.

“Unfortunately not,” said Jason, sighing. “Like I said, Voldemort became totally paranoid about concealing his Horcruxes. He was particularly devious with this one. He created the Horcrux and concealed it in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand, while visiting the dream reality, which makes it an authentic Horcrux. But he left the dream reality before the wand had been hidden. He left that for his dream self to do. The Voldemort in our reality has no idea where it is was hidden.”

“Brilliant,” said Hermione reluctantly. “But will the Voldemort in the dream reality remember anything of the one from our reality having visited him? Will he be aware that there is another reality — a _true_ reality?”

“Voldemort thinks not. However, the Voldemort in the dream reality will remember everything that happened while _our_ Voldemort was _visiting_ ; only he will not realise that he was being _visited_ at the time. He will remember creating the Horcrux and that it needed to be hidden. We must presume he hid it — although hopefully, not with the same rigour and paranoia as _our_ Voldemort might have done. It will all seem to him like something he just decided to do.”

“But I — no, not me — the Hermione Granger in the dream reality has no association with the wizarding world. How on earth will I — will she — find the wand?”

“Do not despair, Hermione, I have some ideas. I have been experimenting with the spell I got from Voldemort to visit the dream reality. In my case, it really was like a dream, because there is no Jason Trolove there. So I was unable to act in it, or influence events, only to gather bits of information. The spell takes you to the corresponding time in the dream reality; and though you may stay in it for days or even weeks, when you use the counter-spell to leave and return to this reality, only an hour or so will have passed — just like in a real dream. You will need to use a Time-Turner to go back a few days prior to the start of the school year, before using the spell to take you to the other reality.”

“Why?” asked Hermione.

“I think you need to be at Hogwarts, at least to start with, in order to find the wand. You might want to try befriending Anthony Goldstein to find out what he knows about it.”

Ron grumbled jealously.

“But, how will I get into Hogwarts? I’m Muggle-born, remember? They don’t allow Muggle-borns into Hogwarts, there.”

“I have invented a story for you: You will claim to be the daughter of a magical family of English descent, living in Kenya. You will forge a letter of reference from a magical school in Malawi. The Headmaster, who is an old friend of mine, remains the headmaster in the dream reality. I will provide you with the text of the letter to memorise and teach you a forging spell so you can imitate his handwriting. You will also forge an accompanying letter from your _father_ , requesting the Hogwarts Headmistress to accept you as a seventh year student.”

“But what if I’m not accepted? What if I’m discovered? Can I be killed in the dream reality?”

“Relax, Hermione. No matter what happens in the dream reality you will remain safely in this one — it’s just a dream remember — although it will seem real enough. You can give the incantation to leave at any time; and if the letter doesn’t work, or if you can’t find the wand, then we’ll just have to try something else, OK?”

“Well, OK, then. So, err, when do you want to do it?” asked Hermione nervously.

“Right now,” said Jason, reaching into his desk drawer for the Time-Turner. 


	13. The Dream Life of Angelina Granville

_**Chapter 13 ~ The Dream Life of Angelina Granville** _

It was one of those mornings when Hermione found it difficult to wake up. She’d been dreaming a strange, strange dream, unlike anything she’d ever dreamt before. She dreamed she was a witch, and there were lots of other witches and boy-witches —they were called wizards — and even a special school where they went to learn magic. It all seemed so incredibly real, even now … as if she was still dreaming … but she wasn’t. She was wide awake, lying in bed, with her eyes wide open. But the dream simply refused to go away.

Sitting up quickly, Hermione tried to clear her head and to stop the strange, confusing dream, which was making her feel vague and fuzzy and not quite there. At first she couldn’t even remember what day it was, whether she was supposed to be going somewhere, or whether she was late for something. Slowly, with great difficulty, Hermione managed to push the dream to the back of her mind and remember. That’s right; she was on holidays, she could sleep as long as she wanted. She did need to be somewhere … but not till late afternoon. It was almost ten now; her parents must have left for work ages ago.

The dream — the witch dream — was still there, trying to take over again. It was distressing — was she going crazy? She turned on the radio loudly to drown out the dream. They were playing the second Brandenburg Concerto on Radio 3. Hermione put on her robe, dashed downstairs to the kitchen, put on the coffee, and turned on the kitchen radio which was also tuned to Radio 3. She turned up the volume so she could hear it while she showered. She adored Bach, but today she could not absorb into the beautiful music. “Harry Potter, Jason Trolove, Rowena Ravenclaw….” Names she had never heard before popped uninvited into her head. They seemed somehow very, very, familiar. What on earth was happening to her?

Hermione stepped from the shower, dried herself, and threw on her bathrobe; then she returned to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, which she took up to her bedroom. As she dressed, she was almost trembling from the effort of holding back the dream; it was gradually overpowering her. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she turned off the radio, lay down on her bed, and stopped fighting it. The dream washed over her like a fantasy movie — a movie about her own life — except it wasn’t her life … or was it? 

Up to the age of eleven, it seemed pretty much the same. Then a letter came informing her that she was a _witch_ and inviting her to attend a special school where she would learn magic. It seemed so ridiculous, so silly, so absurd … and yet, it explained so much — all those inexplicable _incidents_ , like the one with her horrible Aunt Amelia last Christmas. Her aunt, who was an insufferable snob, had, as usual, over-imbibed in the festive spirit and castigated Hermione’s parents for having allowed her skip a year of secondary school. Then the old battle-axe began harping on about how un-ladylike Hermione was, how she was utterly deficient in the really important things, like social skills, etiquette, and comportment. And horror of horrors: No wealthy, respectable, gentleman would ever want to marry her. It was when her aunt insisted that rather than going to university, Hermione should be sent to a finishing school for young ladies that the steamed pudding suddenly leapt right into her aunt’s astonished face. 

There had been quite a few of those strange _incidents_ over the years — like the time that creepy man followed her home from the library after dark. She’d started running, but he was faster; just as he was about to catch her, he tripped for no reason and fell. From the noise he made, he must have broken something — Hermione didn’t hang around to find out. These _incidents_ always seemed to happen when she was very angry or frightened. She tried not to think about them because they defied logic; there was no rational explanation, and she was a very rational person. About a year ago, she had discovered Quantum Physics. It was somehow comforting to find a scientific model, in which the self-evident truths of common sense failed, and nothing was quite certain or what it appeared to be. In fact, she was planning on majoring in Physics when she started at Cambridge next month. Although, if she was being really honest with herself, there was nothing in Quantum Physics to suggest that inexplicable events occur simply because one wants them to, which seemed to be the case with her _incidents_.

But the witch dream explained it all. She was a _witch_ , and these things were simply accidental magic — the unintended consequences of emotional outbursts. She became more and more curious. She was no longer fighting the dream — she was now actively exploring it. The dream sped up, yet it was full of fine detail. Her parents allowed her to go to the magic school, and she became a powerful witch. She became friends with a boy named Harry Potter who grew up to become a powerful wizard, who was destined to fight it out for the future of the wizarding world with a terrible villain named Voldemort. Her mind was flooded with the details of six years of her life in this magical world, and then the start of her seventh year. Finally, came the knowledge of multiple realities and the realisation that this strange, strange dream was not a dream at all — it was her own life in a _different_ _reality_.

Hermione was stunned. She felt as if there were two people, two lives inside her head. Finally she understood what had happened: The other Hermione — the witch — had magically travelled to this reality. As she explored the dream further, the more real it became … and her present life seemed more and more like a dream. Then a shiver run down her spine … the witch Hermione had taken over! No, not taken over — _she was_ the witch Hermione, and yet she had a complete memory of the life of the Hermione in this dream reality. Then she remembered the plan she had hatched with Jason: She was to go to Hogwarts. She had to find Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand, and destroy Voldemort’s Horcrux. But how would that fit in with her life in this dream world, she wondered?

Then she remembered. She was supposed to be going on an Ancient Civilisations bus tour, which would take her to France, Italy, Yugoslavia, Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Israel, and Egypt, from where she would fly home. She was meant to be leaving this afternoon. She knew a travel shop where she could get some postcards, which, with a little magic, could be made to look like they had been posted from the locations the tour would visit. She was pretty sure post owls could deliver to Muggle letterboxes. That would stop her parents from worrying about her; and when it was all over, she could tell them all about where she had really been … maybe.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Hermione entered the Leaky Cauldron, feeling conspicuous with her Muggle backpack. Remembering that Voldemort had not fallen in this reality, she wondered how different the wizarding world would be. Tom was still the landlord, and luckily he had a free room for her. She gave her name as Angelina Granville — it would be safer to use an alias, as at some stage she would be disappearing from the wizarding world, and, depending upon the circumstances, Voldemort might be very keen to track her down. It seemed unlikely that he and his Death Eaters would think of looking in the Muggle world, but she preferred to play it safe. They would not know her real name or have much idea of her appearance: she had just had her bushy brown hair straightened and dyed black.

Diagon Alley did not, at first, look very different from how it would have looked in Hermione’s reality a few days before the start of the school year. There were parents with their children buying books and other school supplies. But it was less crowded — of course, there were no Muggle-borns — except for herself! The war had ended in this reality over sixteen years ago, when Voldemort triumphed; and while people were not looking about cautiously, fearful of an attack, they were, nevertheless, clearly ill-at-ease. Everyone seemed more subdued and they kept to themselves — which was only to be expected under an evil totalitarian regime. 

Hermione recognised some seventh-year students: Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Susan Bones, and Terry Boot, but of course she could not betray it. In fact, she kept her eyes down as she felt rather conspicuous in her Muggle clothes. In her reality, it was not at all unusual to see young witches and wizards sporting Muggle gear in Diagon Alley, but it was in this one. 

Her first stop was Gringotts where she exchanged some money she’d withdrawn from her Barlays bank account for Galleons. Then she set off for Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and bought herself a robe to throw over her Muggle clothes. She would come back for the rest of her clothes another time. What she really wanted was a wand; she felt incomplete and vulnerable without one. Mr Olivander had not mysteriously disappeared in this reality. Not surprisingly, he matched her with exactly the same wand as the one she had in her reality. The ten-inch Vine wood wand with a dragon heartstring core felt like a familiar friend.

Next, she went to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks to buy some parchment and ink, which she took back to her room at the Leaky Cauldron. She had to compose two letters to the Hogwarts Headmistress. The first was purportedly from the headmaster of the school of magic in Malawi, attesting to the magical ability and knowledge of his former student Angelina Granville and certifying that she was of an incontrovertibly pure-blood lineage. Hermione wrote the letter from memory, according to Jason’s instructions, and then used the forgery spell to make the writing look authentic. The second letter, which enclosed the first, was supposedly from her father, requesting that his daughter, Angelina, be allowed to attend Hogwarts as a seventh-year student and requesting a reply by return owl addressed to his daughter at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione used another forgery spell to disguise her handwriting. Before going downstairs to request the use of a post owl, Hermione used her newly-acquired wand to perform some magic on her face. For the first time in her life, she appreciated the advanced cosmetic magic skills of Pravati and Lavender, which she could not avoid picking up in the six years they had been her dorm-mates. First, she changed the colour of her eyebrows and eyelashes to match her black hair. Next, she made her nose look a little longer and thinner, and her cheekbones higher. Finally, she pointed her wand at her two front teeth and reduced them, as Madam Pomfrey had done in fourth year after she’d been hit by Malfoy’s Densaugeo Curse. They had been bothering her ever since awakening this morning in this reality. Hermione inspected herself in the mirror; she was most impressed. Although the changes were minimal, the combined effect made her look quite different.

Hermione returned to Madam Malkin’s for a complete set of school robes. She also bought a trunk to put everything in. Then she went to her favourite shop, Flourish & Blotts, not to buy school books — that could wait until she had the seventh-year book list — but to buy some history books on recent events in the wizarding world. She needed to find out how this reality differed from her own. She also found a book about magical creatures and communities in Africa, which would make good background reading, along with the Muggle book about southern Africa she’d bought on her way to the Leaky Cauldron. She needed to get her story right. Armed with her pile of books, Hermione returned to her room and spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening engaged in serious study.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When she awoke the following morning, it took Hermione a minute or two to remember where she was — and who she was — both of her selves! She decided to breakfast in her room so she could continue reading while she ate. When the breakfast tray came up, there was a message on it that had arrived care of the Leaky Cauldron. As she read the first few lines, her heart sank.

_Dear Miss Granville,_

_Hogwarts is not accustomed to accepting students of unknown origin. Although your previous school and its Headmaster are both known to myself, I do not consider it likely that your education there could possibly be up to the level of excellence required by_ _Hogwarts_ _School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I think it highly unlikely that you would have obtained the requisite knowledge necessary for the exacting standards of seventh-year studies at Hogwarts._

_However, as your former headmaster insists that you are an excellent student, and in deference to his opinion, I will at least give you the chance to prove yourself. A member of the Hogwarts staff will be visiting Diagon Alley today on school business, and will interview you. Please ensure you are at the Leaky Cauldron at_ _midday_ _for your interview with Professor Malfoy._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dolores Jane Umbridge_

_Headmistress_

_Hogwarts_ _School_ _of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

“Oh, no! Yuck!” exclaimed Hermione. No wonder Jason hadn’t mentioned the Headmistress’ name. He must have known it was that bloody cow Umbridge, and he didn’t want to put her off. But worse than that — far worse — Lucius Malfoy was going to examine her! Obviously, in this reality he was a Hogwarts professor — teaching the Dark Arts, no doubt. Hermione was worried; very worried. Was it really going to be just a scholastic examination of her knowledge and abilities, or was Malfoy checking her out in his capacity as a Death Eater? Would he attempt to verify her story about being from Africa? If he discovered she was Muggle-born, she was dead for sure — well the Hermione in this reality was, even if she would awaken unharmed in her own.

Hermione set about getting rid of everything that might give away her Muggle background. All her Muggle things went into her backpack, which was transfigured into a hairclip. Then she returned to her books, particularly the ones about Africa, as she carefully constructed the history of her life there. As midday approached, she got rid of the books as well, transfiguring them into rings and bracelets — the sort of thing she never wore, but Lucius Malfoy wasn’t to know that.

At the stroke of noon, there was a knock at the door. Hermione opened it with dread … but it was not Lucius Malfoy! It was a witch — and not Narcissa Malfoy, either. Hermione was struck dumb; this was not what she had expected. “Miss Angelina Granville?” inquired the witch. “I am Professor Malfoy, the Hogwarts’ Transfiguration Mistress. I believe Headmistress Umbridge has written to advise you of my visit.”

“Yes, of course, please come in,” said Hermione, remembering herself and trying hard to conceal her surprise. The professor entered the room and seated herself at the desk. She gestured for Hermione to bring the chair from the corner of the room closer and sit in front of her.

She had the typical Malfoy blond hair, but her eyes were brown, not grey. She removed a parchment and quill from her bag and began jotting down notes as she questioned Hermione. She asked her which subjects she had studied in her previous school. Hermione was careful to omit Muggle Studies, which was certainly no longer on the Hogwarts curriculum, and left the ‘Defence Against’ from the ‘Dark Arts’. Professor Malfoy began testing Hermione’s knowledge in each of her subjects. The questions were deceptively easy to begin with, but they became increasingly difficult. Hermione had to really work hard at answering them — perhaps Umbridge was right, perhaps standards were far higher here than in her reality; maybe she wouldn’t be good enough to get in. Still, she was fairly confident she had answered them all correctly. Next came practical tests in Transfiguration and Charms, which again started easily enough but quickly became very demanding. Hermione was determined to succeed and rose to the challenge.

Professor Malfoy dropped her parchment on the table behind her and looked at Hermione appraisingly. “I did not realise the Malawi school of magic was so advanced,” she said.

Hermione began to feel nervous and uncomfortable; perhaps she shouldn’t have tried so hard, after all. “Err, I was top of my year, Professor, and I always read a great deal outside of the school curriculum.”

“Miss Granville, you are well in advance of seventh-year at Hogwarts — its end point, not its starting point. To be perfectly frank, you would be wasting your time coming to Hogwarts. Twenty years ago, when curriculum standards were far higher, seventh-year studies at Hogwarts would have benefited you; but regrettably, the standards have declined.”

“Err, but, my parents want me to go to Hogwarts because, err … they are planning on moving to England. They thought it would be a good opportunity for me to make friends and learn about the wizarding world here in Britain,” bluffed Hermione desperately.

“You would be exceedingly bored at Hogwarts, Miss Granville.”

“But, I could read and do research in the library.”

“The Headmistress would never permit it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Headmistress Umbridge believes the principle purpose of education is to produce good, responsible members of the Wizarding community. She places a great deal of emphasis on learning the rules and regulations that govern that community and abiding by them. She does not encourage students to excel, either in knowledge or in magical powers.”

“Is that why the standards have fallen? Because of the Headmistress?”

“I see you are unfamiliar with the wizarding world here in Britain, Miss Granville. I suspect it must be very different from what you were used to. The Headmistress is not the cause of the decline in standards, but merely the instrument. This is a very tightly controlled society, ruled by the Dark Emperor through his Death Eaters and various agencies, such as the Ministry of Magic. Conformity, obedience, and compliance with the social order are encouraged; individuality, independence, and excellence are not. Exceptional abilities, such as yours are viewed with _deep suspicion_.”

Hermione’s face went white. She had really stuffed up badly. Was she going to be arrested?

Professor Malfoy rose from her chair and placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Miss Granville, I cannot allow you to come to Hogwarts — for your own good. There are those amongst the staff who report to the security enforcement agencies. If they became aware of your exceptional knowledge and abilities, you would come under a great deal of scrutiny. If you were lucky, you might be _invited_ to become a Death Eater or join the state security apparatus, if not … well …. Please take my advice and return to your parents in Africa … and stay there.”

“But, err, you won’t tell anyone about me?” asked Hermione fearfully.

Professor Malfoy smiled at her for the first time. “You must understand, Miss Granville, that it is both dangerous and pointless to speak against the regime. No sensible witch or wizard will do so … even if they are not in total agreement with its policies and practices. However, it would be a mistake to assume that because they are circumspect and silent, that they support it,” she said raising an eyebrow meaningfully as she opened the door to leave.

“Wait!” cried Hermione, desperately.

Professor Malfoy turned in surprise.

“Is your name Miranda?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, why?” she asked without surprise. After all, the names of the Hogwarts professors were no great secret. Hermione remained silent and Professor Malfoy turned back towards the door.

Hermione had to stop her leaving. She tried one last desperate gambit. “Jason Trolove sent me!”

That did it. Professor Malfoy put her head out the door to check no one was listening, then closed it and took out her wand. She put a Locking Charm on the door, before placing an Imperturbable Charm on the whole room, so they could not be overheard.

Turning to face Hermione, she said, “Jason Trolove died sixteen years ago. You could not possibly know him. Who are you, Miss Granville?”

“Before I answer that question, I need to tell you something about Lily Evans — she was your friend at Hogwarts, wasn’t she?”

Miranda nodded silently as she stared at Hermione, as if she was a ghost or something supernatural beyond her comprehension. She sat down again in the chair by the desk; her legs had become shaky. 

Hermione returned to the other chair. “Did you know Lily was a Seer?”

“Lily, a Seer?” she murmured almost to her self, fixing her eyes on the wall as she cast her mind back. “Yes, I had my suspicions from little things that happened over the years, but Lily never talked about them — at least not to me. I thought perhaps she was embarrassed because we both thought Divination was such nonsense.”

“According to Jason, Lily Evans was the real thing; she really did have the Sight despite her own scepticism.”

“I am sorry, but I do not understand your references to Jason Trolove; you would have been barely born when he — and Lily — died. You are not making sense, Miss Granville.”

Hermione pressed on. She told Miranda about the visions Lily had in her seventh year, of the _Future of Darkness_ and the _Future of Hope_ and how she believed her actions — her choice — would decide which future would prevail.

Miranda shook her head sadly. “I knew she was going through something very disturbing in seventh year, which seemed to completely preoccupy her; but I never realised…. If she really believed in her visions and that her choice would determine the future, it must have been heartbreaking for her.”

“It took many months,” said Hermione, “but in the end, she was certain that the only way to prevent the _Future of Darkness_ was to leave Jason Trolove and marry James Potter.”

“But how can you know all this?” asked Miranda sceptically.

“She confided it all in Jason, and I learned of it from him.”

“You must be mistaken, young lady. Jason died sixteen years ago, along with Lily — I was at their funeral. And what you say about Lily’s visions cannot be true. I know how much Lily loved Jason, but I also know what kind of person she was: She would never have put her own personal happiness before the good of the whole wizarding world. If she was truly convinced that staying with Jason would result in this world … of _darkness_ , she would have given him up. Of that, I am certain.”

“But that’s just it,” said Hermione, “she _did_ give him up, she _did_ marry James Potter, and have a son — a son who Voldemort is —”

Miranda turned white. “Do not say that name! The punishment is death! But, I don’t understand … how can…. Where are you from Miss Granville?”

“The _Future of Hope_ ,” replied Hermione. She explained to Miranda about the existence of multiple realities and that the two futures Lily saw in her visions represented two alternative realities. “The two realities divided on February 10th, 1977, the day Lily made her decision.”

“Are you really from another reality? A reality in which Lily left Jason for James Potter?” she asked, clearly fascinated.

“Yes,” said Hermione, nodding. She told Miranda how Jason had sent her and Harry back to meet with Lily and himself at the Shrieking Shack on that fateful day and how it had finally convinced Lily that her choice would determine which of the two futures became real.

“I remember that Hogsmeade weekend — because it was just before Valentines Day. I had no valentine gift to buy that year, so I didn’t go to Hogsmeade with Lily and Jason. What became of me in your reality?”

“I’m sorry, Professor Malfoy —”

“Please call me Miranda.”

“OK. Err … Miranda … in my reality someone tried to recruit you to become a Death Eater soon after school. You refused, and were killed.”

“Was it Severus Snape?”

Hermione nodded.

“In this reality, Severus also became a Death Eater and was ordered to recruit me. But I steadfastly refused to join. Then he tried to convince me go into hiding, to save myself, but again I refused. I knew in the end he would be ordered to kill me…. Did you know that we were together at school, Severus and I?” she asked forlornly. Hermione nodded. “And of the terrible deception James Potter used to break us up?” Hermione nodded again sadly. “I think I lost the will to live after that. I felt so terrible for my part in it and how much I’d hurt Severus. It was only then, that I realised just how much I loved him. But he was so wounded by my treachery, he refused to talk to me … and he didn’t … not until the day he came to recruit me.”

“But, he didn’t kill you.”

“When Lily and Jason found out I was being recruited, they wanted to hide me; they wanted me to move in with them, but I refused. I was ready to meet my fate, and somehow, dying at Severus’ hand seemed a fitting way to end a life that had become so unhappy, both personally because of what happened with Severus, and in a wider sense because of the encroaching evil. But, unknown to me, Jason was keeping tabs on Severus. On the day he came to carry out his orders Jason, surprised him.”

“Did he kill Severus?”

“No, Jason wouldn’t hurt a fly; but he disarmed Severus and somehow convinced him that if he killed me he would regret it all his life.”

“But, surely he had no choice … it was a matter of kill or be killed?”

“Severus had a change of heart and decided on a different solution. It was Rodolphus Lestrange who had decided to target me for recruitment, and who, when I kept refusing, ordered Severus to kill me. Severus thought that no one else knew but Rodolphus and himself, so he ambushed Rodolphus and killed him instead of me. He might have got away with it, too; but unluckily, Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange had cast a mutual revenge spell, which meant that if either one was killed, the other would be able to learn the identity of their killer and would be compelled to revenge their death. Bellatrix hunted down my dear Severus and killed him,” she said, choking back tears.

“And did no one else try to recruit you?”

“No, they couldn’t. I went into hiding after Severus’ death. Lily and Jason took me in and hid me until the war was over. With the end of the war, the Death Eaters stopped recruiting; they were turning candidates away. They had more than enough members to commit their evil deeds — killing everyone who’d fought against them, exterminating all the Squibs, and Muggle-born witches and wizards. Lily and Jason died, and there was nothing I could do to save them. I felt so helpless. I lost the only three people I loved; yet Severus’ death somehow gave me the will to live, to carry on — even in this horrid world. He died to save me, and I owed it to him to live, so that his sacrifice was not in vain.”

They sat sadly in silence for a long while. “Is he — is Severus — still alive in your reality?”

Hermione told her how Snape had been overwhelmed with guilt and remorse after killing her; how he discovered too late that he still loved her despite what had happened with James Potter. The guilt had been unbearable, but he knew he could not leave the Death Eaters, so he went to Dumbledore and offered his services as a spy. Miranda was sobbing, but she urged Hermione to carry on, to tell her more. Hermione told her what an excellent potions master he had been, careful concealing his nasty side, which she, herself, had experienced all too often. It was obvious Miranda still loved him after all these years. “I think he must still love you, Miranda, because as far as I know, he’s never been in another relationship.”

“Nor I,” said Miranda sadly. “If you get the chance, when you return to your reality, please tell him I still love him and that I am so terribly sorry for what happened with James Potter. I was such a fool.” She continued sobbing for several minutes, before finally drying her eyes and taking a deep breath, and attempting to compose herself. “But you have not told me why Jason sent you to this reality. It must be something very important.”

“It is. It’s to stop Vold — err, I mean the Dark Emperor, from triumphing and turning our reality into one like this.”

“But, how?”

Hermione explained about the Horcruxes Voldemort had created to attain immortality. She told Miranda the story of the deaths of Lily and James Potter and how Voldemort had failed to kill their son Harry because of Lily’s protection. She explained how his rebounding Killing Curse had destroyed his body, but that the Horcruxes had kept his spirit alive, allowing him eventually to return.

“So before the Dark Emperor in your reality can finally be killed, you must destroy all the Horcruxes?”

“Exactly, and one of them is concealed here, in this reality. Many years ago, the Dark Emperor travelled to this reality and created a Horcrux here. Jason learned this from the Dark Emperor’s mind. After concealing the Horcrux in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand, he returned, leaving the Dark Emperor in this reality to hide it. It was very cunning — no one in my reality, including the Dark Emperor himself, knows where the wand is hidden.”

“Jason was a very powerful wizard at school, but he must have developed quite extraordinary powers since then to be able to access the Dark Emperor’s mind. What happened to him after Lily left him? He must have been devastated; he loved her so much.”

Hermione told Miranda how Jason had left Hogwarts when he and Lily parted, returning briefly to sit the NEWT examinations; and how afterwards he had travelled the world, searching for the source of magic. Miranda remembered his fascination with the subject when they were at school. Hermione told her how Dumbledore had summoned him back, posthumously, to fulfil Lily’s vision and help her son. She also told Miranda how Dumbledore had used his own death to get Snape into Voldemort’s confidence.

“Your reality certainly sounds far more real and alive than this one. Nothing much happens here; it seems dull and two-dimensional in comparison. Even the Dark Emperor seems complacent and lifeless — not that one would wish for him to be more active. So Jason sent you here to find Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand and destroy the Horcrux concealed within it?”

“That’s right. The hard part will be finding it.”

“I have no idea where it could be. I have never heard of it. I didn’t know it existed, even though I am the head of Ravenclaw house.”

“Rowena Ravenclaw gave the wand to her daughter, and it has been secretly passed down from mother to first-born daughter ever since. Is there a student at Hogwarts named Anthony Goldstein?”

“Why yes, he’s in Ravenclaw; he’s the top student in his year.”

“His mother is a direct descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw. He may know what happened to the wand in this reality.”

“Or his sister, perhaps?”

“Anthony has a sister?” asked Hermione, surprised. “In my reality, he’s an only child.”

“Yes, he has a younger sister, named Tanika. She will be in sixth year.”

“Of course!” exclaimed Hermione, piecing together the sequence of events. “In my reality, during the war, Rodolphus Lestrange led an attack on Anthony’s grandparents’ house to get Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand. The Dark Emperor had learned about it and must have wanted it for one of his Horcruxes. But Anthony’s grandmother was too quick for them; she destroyed it before the Death Eaters could get it. But in this reality, Snape — err, Severus — killed Rodolphus Lestrange before the attempt to get the wand. So, someone else would have led the attack, perhaps more competently. In any case, the result was different; they did succeed in getting it — the wand was not destroyed. Anthony’s mother must have decided to have another child in the hope of a daughter to carry on the female line so that at some point in the future, she or her daughter, or her female descendent might regain the wand. But in my reality, the wand had been destroyed, so that incentive to have another child did not exist.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” said Miranda, impressed with Hermione’s logic. She added sadly. “I knew Anthony and Tanika’s mother; she was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, both she and her husband were murdered in the horrors of the _Great Purification_ , which followed the Dark Emperor’s victory. Mr Goldstein was a Muggle, you see. Witches and wizards who married Muggles were considered blood-traitors and were killed along with their Muggle spouses. Those married to Muggle-born witches and wizards were spared — but their Muggle-born spouses, like all Muggle-born witches and wizards, were killed. Children with at least some magical blood were also spared. It was a terrible, terrible time — there were many orphans. Tanika was only a few months old when her parents died. Their maiden aunt, an old friend of mine from Hogwarts, Gemina Morgan, took Anthony and Tanika in, and raised them.”

“Is Tanika in Ravenclaw, too?”

“Of course, she could not be in a different house from her brother.”

“Why not? One of my Gryffindor dorm-mates has a twin sister who was sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“More of the terrible pure-blood racism that followed the Dark Emperor’s victory: Both Gryffindor house and the Sorting Hat were done away with. A special board, known as the Purity Assessment Authority, was set up to investigate the bloodlines of every witch and wizard in the land. According to their determinations, everyone was assigned a _Purity Rating_ — a number between one and nine. One signifies roughly ten percent pure Wizarding blood, and nine signifies roughly ninety percent. Those with a _Purity Rating_ of one to three go into Hufflepuff; those with four to six go into Ravenclaw; and those with seven to nine go to Slytherin.”

“How horrible,” said Hermione in revulsion. “So siblings will have the same _Purity Rating_ and be in the same house. How is the _Purity Rating_ of children determined?”

“By taking the average of their parents’ ratings. If the mother’s is six and the father’s is eight, then the children’s will be seven. In order to marry and have children, a couple must have an average of at least five, which virtually guarantees that those with a rating of less than five will never marry because they would need to find someone with a higher rating than themselves; and in this awful reality, everyone is obsessed with marrying someone with a higher rating. The plan is to raise the minimum average rating at which marriage is permitted by one point in each generation, so that over time, the purity of the wizarding world will be gradually increased.”

Hermione shook her head in disgust.

“If you were to come to Hogwarts, you would be immediately referred to the Purity Assessment Authority, to determine your _Purity Rating_. These things are taken very seriously; and in any case, it is required so you can be assigned a house.”

“But the letters I sent to the Headmistress were fabrications. I’m really —”

“Don’t tell me!” interjected Miranda, urgently. “You already told me that you had to exist in this reality in order to visit it. I’m guessing you’re a Muggle-born witch in your reality, but in this one you probably didn’t even know you were a witch — until very recently. When you return to your reality, your counterpart in this one will return to her Muggle life. It would be best if I know nothing about her. You are a very clever girl, Angelina, so I am assuming that is not your real name, and that you have magically altered your appearance.”

Hermione nodded.

“Good. Please reveal nothing to me about your life in this reality — then it can never be forced from me. You understand now, why you cannot come to Hogwarts. The Purity Assessment Authority would see through your pretence immediately, and the consequences would be fatal.”

“But then how will I find the wand?” asked Hermione, feeling discouraged.

Miranda was lost in silent thought for a moment. “Perhaps Tanika Goldstein might be able to tell you something useful … I don’t know. I can pay her Aunt Gemina a visit this afternoon; it’s almost a year since I saw her last. You can accompany me. Your story about applying to transfer to Hogwarts will do nicely; I’ll just say that you are in my care for the afternoon, so I brought you along. While I’m chatting with her aunt, you can talk with Tanika. Have you ever done Side-Along-Apparation?”

“No, but I can Apparate, I’ve passed my test, although obviously I have no licence in this reality.”

“That doesn’t matter. Apparation is not monitored here. It is only taught to those who join the state security apparatus. Well then, let us away to Gemina Morgan’s cottage in Chipping Sodbury.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Hermione found herself outside the gate of a picturesque cottage in a pretty country lane. She followed Miranda up the garden path to the front door. Gemina Morgan was delighted to find her old friend Miranda Malfoy on the doorstep and welcomed her and her young charge inside. After a brief introduction in which Miranda told her the arranged story, Gemina called her niece downstairs to meet Hermione and suggested they entertain themselves in her room. Tanika was a friendly girl with black hair and dark brown eyes. She seemed happy to have the company of a girl her own age.

As they climbed the stairs to Tanika’s room, Hermione decided to get straight to the point; she didn’t have time to waste. As soon as the door was shut she said, “Tanika, I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand.”

Tanika was stunned. “W-What are you talking about?” she asked nervously. Her aunt had told her about the ancient family heirloom and how the Dark Emperor’s Death Eaters had killed her grandmother and stolen it. As far as she knew, the only ones who knew about it were her family and the Death Eaters — and this girl was not a member of the family.

Hermione guessed what was going through Tanika’s mind and saw how fearful she had become. “Tanika, can we sit down, please? We need to talk.” The girl gestured for Hermione to take the small chair by the desk and sat warily on her bed.

“Look, I’m not really a transfer student from Africa — and no, I am definitely not a Death Eater or anything remotely like it.” Hermione gave her an edited version of the two realities and her true mission. “The Dark Emperor magically concealed something evil in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand. I need to find it and remove the evil from it, so that in my reality the Dark Emperor can be defeated. I know what he has done to your family — apart from stealing the wand — will you help me, please?” Hermione implored her.

Tanika stared at Hermione silently for a long time, as if trying to decide whether to trust her or not. Finally she spoke. “I think I know where the wand is hidden.”

“Really?”

“There must be some ancient magic running through our family that binds the first-born daughter in each generation — the wand-bearer — to the wand. Rowena Ravenclaw has been appearing in my dreams; sometimes it feels almost as if she is calling me. At first I could not understand the meaning of the dreams, but lately it seems like she is trying to tell me where her wand is hidden.”

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. “Where do you think it is?” she asked.

“Stonehenge. In my dreams, I see the stone circles. I know there are other ancient sites like Avebury with great stones, but I have looked at pictures of Stonehenge, and I’m sure that’s what I am seeing in my dreams.”

“Yes, I imagine Stonehenge would appeal to the Dark Emperor for hiding his … err, the evil thing he has concealed in the wand. Have you ever been there?”

“No, although it’s not that far from here, about thirty or forty miles to the south, down in Wiltshire.”

“Tanika, will you come to Stonehenge with me?” asked Hermione, looking at her imploringly.

“What? When?”

“Now.”

“But … but how will we get there?” asked Tanika.

“Tell your aunt that we’re taking a short walk. There must be some pretty views to be had around here. Once we’re out of sight, we’ll Apparate to Stonehenge.”

“But I can’t Apparate. Can you?” asked Tanika.

“Yes, and I can take you with me, using Side-Along-Apparation.”

“Alright,” said Tanika, resolutely, after some moments of silent thought.

Tanika’s aunt told them not to be away more than half an hour or they’d miss afternoon tea. Miranda gave Hermione a significant look as they left the house. They walked into the wood on the other side of the road; as soon as they were concealed by the trees Hermione took a firm grip of Tanika’s arm. “Ready?” ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Hermione had been to Stonehenge several times — in both realities; she had always found it fascinating. She knew the layout quite well and decided to Apparate to a spot behind the tearooms, expecting it to be deserted … but it wasn’t. Two young men with long hair and beards were having a quiet smoke, out of sight … or so they thought. To say they were surprised when Hermione and Tanika materialised ten feet from them would be an understatement. At first, they were too stunned to move. They slowly looked at each other in horror, and then stared suspiciously at the joint they’d been smoking; finally they turned and ran. Just before they made it to the corner, Hermione whipped out her wand and Obliviated them. As they disappeared around the corner of the tearooms, Hermione and Tanika broke into fits of laughter.

“Did you notice the funny clothes they were wearing?” asked Tanika. “The strange cloaks and buckled boots; it sort of looked like they were trying to dress like wizards, although it wasn’t very convincing.”

“I think they’re wiccans, or druids, or pagans, or New Agers — something like that. Stonehenge is a bit of a magnet for their sort. Some of them like to dress up as witches and wizards; you even see them with make-believe wands sometimes. Come on, let’s see if there are any more of them.” There were, dozens in fact, swarming all over the place; it must have been some kind of a gathering. “Oh well, they’re probably good cover. No one will notice us amongst this lot…. Tanika, what are you doing?” asked Hermione. The other girl stood statue-like, her eyes shut.

“I can feel it, Angelina, the wand. In that direction,” she said, pointing to the centre of the stone circle.

“I wonder if it’s … I know, lets walk around the outside of the circle and see in which direction you sense it from different points.” They threaded their way through the weird wiccans, or whatever they were. They were a noisy bunch, clearly in festive spirits. Tanika stopped several times at different points, and each time she turned to the centre of the circle.

“I thought as much,” said Hermione. “It’s slap-bang in the centre of the circle!”

“But it looks like no one is allowed in there. How will we get to it?” asked Tanika.

“These wiccans are doing a great job of keeping the security guards occupied; let’s dash into the centre, and I’ll cast a Muggle-Repelling charm. Hopefully, no one will notice us; or if they do, they’ll suddenly become preoccupied with something else and leave us alone. Come on.”

They ran to the centre of the henge, which was marked by a number of large rocks on the grass-covered ground. Hermione pulled out her wand and did the Muggle-Repelling charm. It seemed to work, because no one was bothering them or even looking in their direction. 

“It’s buried right here, in the centre of these rocks. I can almost see it,” said Tanika, staring at the spot. “It’s been buried upright. The top of the wand is about three feet beneath the ground.”

“How long is the wand?” asked Hermione.

“Exactly fourteen inches.”

It was not going to be possible to dig up the wand — that would take too long, and probably require more than a simple Muggle-Repelling charm to be done unnoticed. Hermione withdrew her wand and pointed it at the ground between the stones. A Horcrux was not matter; it was spirit, so if it could be released from the wand, it should be able to pass up through a few feet of earth. But, would the spell work if she could not actually see the object in which the Horcrux was concealed? 

Hermione visualised the centre of the wand three-and-a-half feet below the ground and uttered the incantation, “Animus Liberta.” Nothing seemed to be happening. Hermione stopped, and did the breathing exercise she had learnt from Jason to calm herself and control her anxiety. When her mind was clear, she re-focused it on the wand and gave the incantation again. Gradually, a white vapour began to rise from the ground. It continued rising up a foot or two before slowly dissolving.

Tanika jumped back fearfully when the vapour appeared. “What was that? Was it the evil thing that was concealed in the wand?” she asked.

“It was, and it is gone. Your wand is fine, but I’m sure you understand that we need to leave it here.”

“Of course. But maybe one day I’ll get it back … or if not me, my daughter,” she said wistfully. “Will he — will they — know what you did? Will they know the evil thing is gone?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, they’ll have no idea. Come on, Tanika, it’s time to go home,” she said, taking hold of her arm. Just before Apparating away, she noticed the two young bearded men who they had surprised behind the tearooms looking at them in confusion, as if they were not quite sure if they were imagining things. Maybe whatever they had been smoking weakened the effect of the Muggle-Repelling charm. Hermione grinned at them and gave a small wave with her free hand just before they disappeared.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

They arrived back in time for afternoon tea, where Hermione met Anthony Goldstein. He seemed much the same as in her reality, except this Anthony was withdrawn and guarded; but who wouldn’t be in this reality? When the time came to bid farewell, Hermione and Tanika embraced warmly — they both felt sad they would never see each other again.

Back in her room in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione told Miranda how Tanika had led her to the Horcrux and how it had been destroyed. “Thank you so much, Miranda, for your help. I never would have managed it without you.”

“There is so little opportunity to do good in this evil reality,” she replied with a sigh. “I am just happy that I was able to do some good for your reality, especially since Severus and Jason are still alive there. Please be sure to give Severus my message. I understand you may not have the opportunity to see him, but perhaps Jason can pass it on to him. And please give Jason my love, too. Tell him I hope, with all my heart, that he succeeds in helping Lily’s son to destroy the evil one. I must go now, and you must return to your reality. I will inform Professor Umbridge that you were not up to the high standards she maintains at Hogwarts,” she said with a grin.

Hermione hugged her. She would miss Miranda more than she could ever have imagined missing a Malfoy. What a pity she was not one of her Hogwarts professors. After a tearful farewell Miranda left. Hermione transfigured the hairclip back into her Muggle backpack. She was thinking of expanding it so she could fit all her Diagon Alley purchases in it; but then she decided it would be safer for the Hermione in this reality not to take anything home with her from the wizarding world. She threw all the wizarding gear into the trunk, transformed it into a toothpick, and then incinerated it with an Incendo charm.

She went downstairs with her backpack, paid Tom for her room, and gave him a generous tip to get rid of the rest of her Wizarding money and walked out into the Muggle world. It was the late night at her parents’ dental practice, so the house was empty when she got home. Hermione removed all the cosmetic charms … even the tooth-shrinking charm … grudgingly, and used more cosmetic magic to return her hair to its normal colour and bushiness. She rang up the tour company and learned that if she took an evening flight to Paris, she could join her tour group there tonight. Maybe she wouldn’t tell her parents about her magical adventure after all. 

It was time to return to her own reality. She didn’t need a wand for the spell that would take her back. Should she destroy the wand before leaving? In the end she decided not to. She would leave it for the Hermione in this reality to decide if she wanted to destroy it or not. From what Jason said, the Hermione in this reality would remember everything that had happened while she was _visiting_ ; she would certainly remember that she was a witch, but she would not retain her magical knowledge. She would have to decide what she wanted to do about it. It was time to go home. 


	14. His Satanic Majesty

_**Chapter 14 ~ His Satanic Majesty** _

“Look at this!” said Hermione urgently to Harry and Ron, pushing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ across the breakfast table towards them a week after her adventures in the _Future of Darkness_.

“What could you possibly find of interest in that pathetic rag?” asked Ron disparagingly. “You know it’s just a Ministry of Magic mouthpiece these days — you can’t believe a word it says. I don’t understand why you still bother getting it; there hasn’t been any real news in the Prophet since Fudge took over and put that git Percy in charge of censorship and lies, the bloody —”

“I know all that Ron!” interrupted Hermione in exasperation. “I know it’s all Ministry misinformation and tripe, but listen to this!” she said, grabbing the paper back. “After due consideration, the Minister of Magic, the Honourable Cornelius Fudge, has decided that the good offices of the Ministry are not an appropriate vehicle for the dissemination of religious beliefs. The Ministry, he says, wishes to make it clear that this decision should not be taken in any way as a denial, rejection, or indeed doubt, regarding the veracity of the messianic claims currently being made in certain circles regarding The Immortal One. However, the Ministry is bound by statute to uphold the time-honoured principles of the separation of religion and state, and to remain independent and neutral in matters of faith and religious belief. The Minister humbly hopes that in so doing he gives no offence. The rest of the article is just Fudge grovelling to Voldemort, but —”

“What? Voldemort? What’s he got to do with all this gobbledygook? And what the hell is it all about?” demanded Ron.

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Hermione snappily.

“No,” said Ron blankly.

“Well, who do you think _The Immortal One_ might possibly be?” she asked.

“Voldemort, obviously,” answered Harry. “But what the hell’s he up to now? I can’t make head or tail of what it says in the _Prophet_.”

“Well, reading between the lines,” answered Hermione, “Voldemort is making his move to take over — starting with the Ministry of Magic — and Fudge has realised that he will be nothing more than Voldemort’s puppet. So he’s finally putting up some resistance.”

“Yeah, but what do you think all that stuff about _messianic claims_ and _faith and religious belief_ is all about?” asked Harry, puzzled.

“I’ve no idea,” said Hermione shaking her head. “It all sounds rather weird.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The Prime Minister was not having a good day. It was even worse than the time when the President had labelled the European Union part of the Axis of Evil and threatened to bomb the living daylights out of the _atheistic bunch of commies_. What an unbelievable fiasco that had been. First, he’d attempted to explain at the hastily convened press conference that the President had been misquoted. But some snarky reporter from the _Guardian_ pointed out that the comment had been made on prime time television and offered to replay the speech for him. Then he tried _spinning_ it as a minor misunderstanding — a mere a slip of the tongue. The President meant _Soviet_ Union, not _European_ Union, and had given him his personal assurances that there was — and never had been — any intention of bombing Britain, or any other member state of the EU, for that matter … not even France. But it didn’t wash, and some smart-arsed reporter suggested that he inform the President that the Soviet Union had ceased to exist several years ago and recommended sending him a new atlas for Christmas, instead of the usual comic books.

But this was worse … far worse! This had happened right here in Britain, and the Prime Minister had a horrible suspicion he knew who was behind it. “Tell the press I am far too busy to make a statement,” he snapped at his brow-beaten press secretary, Berty Bottoms. “Give them the usual guff about _all hands to the deck, manning the guns, no stone unturned_ , or whatever you think they might swallow. Say the State of Emergency will be lifted just as soon as it possibly can, and, err … there is absolutely no need for panic, and everyone should stay calm, and err … the government advises people in the south of England — particularly those living in and around Wiltshire — to stay at home and … err, have a nice cup of tea, and watch the television for news of further developments.”

As the Prime Minister paused to take a breath, there was the distinct sound of someone coughing softly from the other side of the room. “Who was that?” asked the surprised press secretary, spinning around in his chair. “Did you hear that cough, Prime Minister?”

“Nonsense, you are imagining things, Bottoms. Too much stress, I imagine,” said the Prime Minister, leaping from his chair and almost dragging his bewildered press secretary to the door. “Well, no point in delaying your appointment with the rat pack. Off you go then, Bottoms,” he said, pushing Berty out of his office and slamming the door behind him, before turning to glare at the froglike little man in the dirty painting hanging in the corner of his office.

“To the Prime Minister of Muggles. Urgent we meet. Kindly respond immediately. Sincerely, Minister of Magic,” said the froggy little fellow.

“Too bloody right it’s urgent. Send him right in!” snapped the Prime Minister, feeling a little foolish for barking orders at a picture. He attempted to regain his composure and look a little more _Prime Ministerial_ as he turned apprehensively towards the empty fireplace. Bright green flames appeared from nowhere, and a portly man came spinning out, clutching a lime-green bowler hat in one hand and absentmindedly brushing ash from his long, pin-striped cloak with the other. He looked beleaguered and fraught. The Prime Minister would have felt sorry for him, but he was far too busy feeling sorry for himself. Without even bothering with the niceties of shaking hands and offering his visitor a chair, he immediately lashed out at him, “Alright, so what have you lot done with Stonehenge, then, Sludge?”

“Err … Fudge,” said the Minister of Magic, making an obsequious bow before collapsing wearily into the visitor’s chair in front of the Prime Minister’s large oak desk. 

“What are you talking about?” demanded the Prime Minister, standing belligerently over the exhausted Minister of Magic. “You _fudged_ Stonehenge? What on earth are you on about, man?”

“No, no. You misunderstand me, Prime Minister. It’s my name.”

“What the devil?”

“My name is Fudge, Cornelius _Fudge_ — not Sludge.”

“Oh, I see. Yes of course, quite, quite. Well anyway, Fudge, I demand to know what you, err … _people_ have done with Stonehenge. Two nights ago, about ten miles of motorway around Stonehenge disappeared! Great segments of the A303, the A344, and the B360 are all simply gone — along with dozens of vehicles and their occupants! Sixty-six people vanished into thin air! Had it happened during the daytime, it might have been hundreds or even thousands. Where the hell are they all?”

Fudge looked at the floor contritely, shaking his head silently.

“All access roads to Stonehenge have also disappeared. We sent in the army with their tanks and hovercraft and what-not, but they couldn’t find it. Then the air force flew helicopters overhead, but they couldn’t see it anywhere. Finally, I ordered in the SAS — they’re our crack troops, you know — they insist that it’s not there! _What have you done with it?_ Have your lot somehow spirited it away? Where have you taken it? I _demand_ that you put it back! Immediately! It’s classified as a national treasure and listed by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. It’s priceless! Do you have any idea how many millions in tourist pounds it generates every year? You can’t just waltz off with it, man!”

“No one has taken it,” mumbled Fudge defensively.

“Then where the hell is it?”

“Where it always was, Prime Minister, it’s just that —”

“Don’t talk rubbish, man! If the SAS say it’s not there, then it’s not there!”

“Oh, it’s there alright. It’s just that it’s been made unplottable —”

“Un-what-able? For god’s sake, man, talk sense!”

“If you would only calm down and listen, to me, Prime Minister, I can explain everything.”

The Prime Minister took a deep breath, trying to bring his temper under control. “Whisky?” he asked, picking up a crystal decanter from his desk. Fudge shook his head, but the Prime Minister poured himself a generous shot before sinking wearily into the chair behind his desk. “Well then, explain!” he said, glaring at Fudge across his desk. “All those big streets … err, what did you call them?”

“Motorways.”

“Well, all the motorways in proximity to the henge have been magically destroyed along with the access roads to the henge. It is with the greatest regret I must inform you, Prime Minister, that the unfortunate Muggles — err, people, that is — who were travelling on the roads at the time will sadly have, err … perished. However, I can assure you that the henge itself is still there, in exactly the same place where it has always been.”

“Then why can no one find it?”

“Because it has been subjected to a variety of magical spells that make it impossible for Muggles — err, non-magical folk — to find.”

“And would you care to tell me why?”

“Why?”

“Yes! Who did it … and why!” screamed the red-faced Prime Minister.

“Well, it wasn’t me, Prime Minister — or the Ministry of Magic, so there is no need to yell at me. My situation is already very, very grim, and my nerves are on edge.”

“Pull yourself together man! And don’t talk to me about _your_ situation! How about _mine_?” exclaimed the Prime Minister furiously. “How the deuce am I supposed to explain ten miles of motorway disappearing and sixty-six missing persons?”

“You could say it was one of those exploding thingies you Muggles drop on each other. What do you call them?”

“Bombs!” said the Prime Minister shaking his head in exasperation. “Which is, of course, precisely the story we trotted out to the media. Stonehenge has been declared a disaster area. All traffic is diverted for miles around. The army has set up a huge cordon and sealed off the whole area. ‘Testing for radioactivity’, we’re saying. For the moment, no one can get in to find out that Stonehenge has gone missing.”

“But it hasn’t, I keep telling you; it’s just been magically concealed.”

“Which means pretty much the same bloody thing — except to your barmy bunch. And the bomb story has turned out to be a total disaster as well,” said the Prime Minister shaking his head hopelessly.

“Why?”

“Because everyone wants to know who bombed us! We could hardly say it was one of our own bombs, dropped by mistake, now could we? There’d be a god-almighty uproar about how incompetent we are … not a fit and proper bunch to be put in charge of a popgun, and all of that. The press would have a field day! So we had to say we didn’t know who dropped it. Now the whole country is baying for blood, and they’re demanding we bomb them back.”

“Bomb who?”

“Anyone — the Russians, the Chinese, the French … even the Australians.”

“But aren’t the Australians on your side?”

“Well, they are, but a lot of people are pretty annoyed about the way they keep beating us at cricket; so some of the sports fans are claiming it was the Aussies, hoping we’ll really hit them for six this time. The radio talkback shows have been running polls to see who people think we should bomb.”

“Really?”

“The French are winning, of course, but a lot of callers want us to bomb the Americans. Everyone’s fed-up with the way they push us around — along with everyone else — and act like it’s their god-given right to rule the world. I think a lot of older people really miss the old empire and the days when we used to run the show. But bombing the Yanks is going a bit far, I think … just one little bomb on the White House, perhaps … err, just wishful thinking … _ha, ha_. No, of course we’re not going to bomb anyone! Because no one bombed us, _did they_? It was your bloody lot! I knew it immediately when the first reports came in; but what can I do? I can’t tell anyone the truth, not even my own cabinet. If I start going on about witches and wizards and magic, they’ll think I’ve gone loopy and roll me. What the hell am I supposed to do?” he whined pitifully.

Fudge tried to look sympathetic, but really, he was more concerned with his own problems.

“I suppose this was the work of He-Who-Done-It?”

“You mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Yes him! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Blamed, more like it. You’re dead scared of him, as I remember. It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Err, yes, it was You-Know-Who.”

“Yes, I do know who, but what I want to know is why?”

“He has decided to turn Stonehenge into a temple, Prime Minister. It was originally built as a place of worship, you know,” he added weakly.

“What the devil has that got to do with it? And who, exactly, does he intend to worship there?”

“You misunderstand me, Prime Minister. He has anointed himself _Dark Emperor_ , and he claims to be the saviour of the wizarding world. He also calls himself the _Immortal One_ and the _Dark Messiah_. He is demanding that we — the wizarding world — worship him. He has proclaimed Stonehenge to be _his_ temple, where _he_ is to be worshiped.”

“Singular! How utterly extraordinary! Commandeered Stonehenge for his own personal temple? Wants people to worship him? He must be barking mad! Well, I certainly don’t intend to worship him, and I doubt very much that the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the Pope for that matter, will be making a pilgrimage to Stonehenge anytime soon.”

“No, they wouldn’t be able to find it,” replied Fudge. “In any case, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would not want to be worshipped by Muggles; in fact, he is planning to —” Fudge stopped in mid-sentence; he did not want to alarm the Prime Minister further.

“Yes, I’m listening. What exactly _is_ he planning?” demanded The Prime Minister suspiciously.

Fudge was not going to answer that question; the Prime Minister was already upset enough. Instead, he turned the conversation to the true purpose of his visit. “What I meant, Prime Minister, is that he has been making threats.”

“What kind of threats? Is he planning to add Westminster Abby and the Basilica to his religious franchise?”

“I doubt he would be interested in Christian cathedrals; the Avebury Henge would be more his style — not that there have been any specific threats in that regard, Prime Minister. The threats, to date, have been quite non-specific; but I must warn you: There is reason to believe he may target Muggles, as well as magical folk, if we do not accede to his demands.”

“Which are?” 

Fudge sighed deeply. “He is demanding that the Ministry of Magic recognise him as the divine ruler of the wizarding world. He wants to turn the Ministry of Magic into his personal administrative instrument. Amongst other things, we would be required to act as a religious police force.”

“Doing what?”

Fudge sighed again. “Ensuring that all members of the Wizarding community worship him. Surveillance of religious dissenters, non-believers, apostates, and the like … and their elimination.”

“Good god, it sounds like the Spanish Inquisition all over again. Has he been taking lessons from the Ayatollahs in Iran?”

“I don’t see how we can possibly comply. To start with, he is demanding the immediate introduction of a new subject at the Wizarding school — to nurture and cultivate faith in him amongst our children. Of course, the Headmistress won’t have a bar of it. She has already forbidden members of the Ministry to set foot inside the school. It’s an impossible situation.” 

“But surely you would not contemplate giving in to him? This fellow is obviously a megalomaniac. You have to wipe him out, along with his followers. There is no other alternative with fanatics like that.”

Fudge shook his head sadly. “As I told you several months ago, Prime Minister, he is too powerful to be defeated. And he has been rapidly gaining in strength since then.”

“I warned you that détente and appeasement would not work. Well, he has to be stopped. I suppose you’ve come to ask me for help, then?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Look, Fudge, there’s no point in being sentimental and squeamish in matters of national security — heads need to be broken. These people are terrorists. I’ll get the SAS and our special, secret, anti-terrorist squad to finish him off, along with his followers.”

“How?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said before that these SAS chaps of yours cannot find Stonehenge — even though they know exactly where it’s supposed to be. How are they going to attack You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters if they can’t find them?”

“Death Eaters?” asked the Prime Minister, warily.

“Yes, it’s what he calls his followers. You saw what they did to your motorways. Do you want them to make your army and air force and SAS and secret anti-terrorist squad, and whatever else, disappear, too — along with your Houses of Parliament and the rest of Westminster?”

“No! Definitely not! On second thoughts I think we — what’s the word? Muggles? — should stay out of this dispute and let you _people_ sort it out amongst yourselves. After all, it’s really none of our damn business, is it?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think this problem can be contained within the wizarding world for very much longer,” insisted Fudge.

“Why not?” asked the Prime Minister warily.

“Well, that’s actually why I came to see you today, Prime Minister — to warn you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is threatening catastrophic consequences if his demands are not met. There has already been one attack, which luckily, was thwarted by a group who have remained steadfastly opposed to him. But he has threatened to up the ante with each attack until we give in to his demands. It is only a matter of time before the attacks move out of the wizarding world and he begins going for larger targets — which means Muggles.”

“Yes, I see what you mean, Fudge. It’s tricky, very tricky,” said the Prime Minister, looking rather sheepish. “Err, have you considered giving in to him, then? Ultimately it might be your only option. I mean you know what they say about _discretion being the better part of valour_ ….”

Fudge was tired of beating about the bush. “Look, you remember that chap, Hitler? Well, if You-Know-Who takes over, he’ll make your Hitler chappie look like a Boy Scout. He’ll start with the wizarding world, exterminating everyone whose blood is not pure enough for his liking, and then he’ll start on the Muggles — you!”

“What do you mean by not pure enough?” asked the Prime Minister, fearfully.

“Pure, as in magically pure.”

“But we Muggles don’t have any magical blood, do we? Does that mean he’ll….”

“No one knows for sure, Prime Minister,” replied Fudge, shrugging his shoulders. “He may not exterminate all of you; he may decide to keep some Muggles as slaves.”

“Then you have to stop him! You have to stand up and be counted — no matter what the cost! There must be lots of your people who don’t want to live under a fascist, religious regime like that. You have to rally the opposition, stand shoulder-to-shoulder, and all that. You have to fight him! My god, you have to do something!” said the Prime Minister, shaking with fear.

Fudge just sat slumped in the visitor’s chair, mumbling meaninglessly to himself.

“Of course, I don’t mean you, personally,” said the Prime Minister. “But surely there are people in your world who are prepared to fight for their freedom? Is there no one powerful enough to take on this monster?”

Fudge looked up. “Well, there is a prophecy, Prime Minister, about a wizard who will have the power to fight him, although it is by no means clear that he will succeed.”

“Then what are you doing about it? Do you know who it is? Have you found him, yet?”

“Yes, we know who it is. He is a seventeen-year-old school boy. The previous Headmaster of the Wizarding school had been grooming him, preparing him, I believe, for the day he would fight You-Know-Who. Unfortunately, the Headmaster was killed last year; and as far as I know, the boy is no longer receiving training. As I told you, the present Headmistress is preventing all access to the school — and the boy. I do not know if he is ready yet; I can only hope so. He is our only hope — and yours as well.”

“What is the boy’s name?”

“Harry Potter.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“You’re doing extremely well, Harry,” said Jason as they flopped down into their bean bags after an intensive training session. It was Saturday afternoon, and Jason had spent the whole day with Harry, teaching him more advanced magic. “Your magical power is stronger every week. I think you’ll be ready soon.”

“With the way things are going, I don’t have much time, do I?”

“No, you don’t; events are overtaking us,” said Jason with a sigh. “But we must not let him force our hand, no matter what happens. There is no point taking him on until you are ready — completely ready. And anyway, there is still one more Horcrux to destroy before Voldemort can be completely annihilated.”

They sat in subdued silence for a while, before Jason continued. “Unfortunately, it looks like Voldemort is finally making his move. There was a large attack in Diagon Alley, last Monday. Luckily, the Order was ready for it.”

“How did they know?”

“Severus tipped them off, I believe. The Death Eaters weren’t expecting any resistance; they were not expecting a fight. The Order had them outnumbered. According to Remus, most of the Death Eaters Apparated away, including Lucius Malfoy, who led the attack — yet another black mark against him with Voldemort. And there has been further attack since. It wasn’t really an attack, but a lot of Muggles were killed.”

“Where? What happened?” asked Harry apprehensively.

“Voldemort has taken over Stonehenge. He’s decided to turn it into a temple for his devoted Death Eaters to worship him.”

“What happened to the Muggles?”

“There are three motorways very close to Stonehenge that form a sort of triangle around it — or at least they used to. Several nights ago, Death Eaters, using some kind of wide-area blasting curses, destroyed parts of the motorways — about ten miles in all. The curses also destroyed the cars and trucks travelling along them at the time, killing the sixty or seventy Muggles who were inside. They have made Stonehenge unplottable and used various disillusionment charms, including a variant of the Fidelius Charm, to prevent the Muggles from finding it. To the Muggles, it seems like it just vanished. Their government is using the army to keep everyone away; they’re pretending it was hit by a bomb.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Gosh! So this is really it, then!”

“It looks that way,” said Jason, nodding sombrely”

Harry sighed. “Why is Voldemort setting himself up as some kind of saviour? I don’t get it. From what Hermione said about the _Future of Darkness_ reality she visited, he didn’t do it there. He just called himself the Dark Emperor, but he didn’t make everyone worship him.”

“An interesting difference,” said Jason. “My guess is that he’s discovered something fairly recently, at least since the _Future of Darkness_ reality diverged, which he did not discover in that reality.”

“Like what?”

“The power of belief,” said Jason.

“You think he’s found out about the _Source?_ ”

Jason smiled and shook his head. “Voldemort is the last person who would ever discover the _Source_. He is a true believer in his dark magic and esoteric rituals. No, I think he must have come across some dark, blind-faith magic.”

“Blind-faith magic?”

“Yes, I came across it in Africa. Some charismatic leader convinces his followers that he is a god, or god-like, perhaps a great prophet or saint. He claims to be blessed with supernatural powers, such as immortality or the ability to perform miracles — usually the sort that will make his followers prosperous and wealthy. By worshipping and believing in him, his followers greatly enhance his power. The more followers he can gather, and the stronger and more unconditional their faith, the more powerful he becomes. Essentially, he is using their connection to the _Source_ , forged by their faith in him, to increase his own power.”

“Voldemort will become unstoppable,” said Harry.

Jason smiled, and shook his head. “No matter how many followers he has, his magic will never be as strong as yours — once you are completely connected to the _Source_. Although I am ambivalent about Trelawney’s prophecy, there is one part that strikes a deep cord with me: The bit about _he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_. I think that power is your ability to connect to the _Source_. That is something Voldemort would never comprehend.”

“I always thought it meant _Love_ , my ability to love — that’s what Dumbledore said.”

“Well, when you connect to the _Source_ , that’s exactly what it feels like — _Love_. Keep working on the meditation, Harry, it’s the key to everything. You have mastered the basic exercise of concentrating on the breathing, but you need to put more work into the advanced technique I taught you, of silencing the mind. Do it as much as possible; not just when you are lying down or sitting, but also when you are walking about or involved in mundane activities. Remember: Just observe the thoughts as they arise and let them go, without becoming attached to them or getting involved in them. It will lead you to the _Source_. When you can connect deeply, at will, then you will be ready to face Voldemort.”

“Jason, there’s something that’s been bothering me. Why do you always assume that it’s me who has to kill Voldemort? I know that’s what Trelawney’s prophecy says … and my mother’s too — but that doesn’t stop you from killing him, does it? I remember Dumbledore saying that prophecies are not always right — didn’t he say something like that to my mother, as well?”

“Yes, he did, and he was right. In fact, most prophecies do not come true.” “So you could kill Voldemort, then. It doesn’t have to be me, like it says in the prophecies. You’re much more powerful than I’ll ever be. So why can’t you kill him?

“You are very close to forging a permanent link with the _Source_ , Harry. Once you do it, you will be every bit as powerful as me. I may know more magic than you, but I have taught you the most important part of what I know — everything you will need when the time comes to face Voldemort.”

“But why do you keep on insisting that it’s me who needs to face him? Why can’t it be you?”

“I am not a superstitious person and I’ve never given much credence to Divination and all of that. But I believe deeply in your mother’s gift of the Sight and the truth of her visions. Those visions have marked my life indelibly. At times they seemed to me, personally, like an enormous curse. But I have seen too much of her visions come true to doubt them, now. Even the _Future of Darkness,_ which Hermione visited, transpired just as your mother foresaw it.”

“Yes,” agreed Harry. “I understand all that. But still, if you kill Voldemort he’ll be dead — right?

“It’s difficult to explain. I feel somehow bound to let the _Future of Hope_ play itself out the way your mother foresaw it. My part in it, my destiny is to teach you what I learned in my travels — not to kill Voldemort. That, according to Lily’s vision, is your destiny. If I tried to kill him, I would be somehow going against my destiny — and against Lily’s vision. Perhaps I would fail to kill him … maybe I would succeed, but it would not be permanent — and he would come back.

“Your mother’s gift of the Sight was a form of magic — a manifestation of the _Source_. If I went against her visions, I would be denying the _Source_. I know it doesn’t seem rational, but there is far more in this universe than we humans are able to perceive and understand with out limited mental faculties. Deep inside, I feel certain, somehow, that if we let your mother’s vision play itself out, then it will end exactly as she foresaw it — with Voldemort’s permanent destruction. Trust me on this one, Harry.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a flash of green flames in the fireplace. The Headmistress’ head appeared. She looked extremely distressed, and spoke urgently. “There you are, Professor Trolove. Thank goodness I’ve found you. An owl has just arrived from Madam Rosmerta: A large contingent of Death Eaters are attacking Hogsmeade. They are making their way through the village, causing havoc. They are heading for Hogwarts! I have already sent a message to the Order, but it will take time for them to mobilise. Professors Lupin and Tonks have gone to the main school gates in case the wards are breached. Please go and join them immediately. I will have the other professors secure the castle from within.”

“Remus and Tonks will be fine at the gates by themselves,” replied Jason. “I think I’ll head straight for Hogsmeade and make sure they don’t get anywhere near the school. Coming, Harry?”

The Headmistress turned her head towards Harry, whom she hadn’t noticed. “Potter? Do you think it’s a good idea to take Potter with you? It will be very dangerous. The Death Eaters will immediately target him.”

“Harry can take care of himself, Headmistress. In any case, they will not recognise him — or me. Please get a message to the Order: Tell them not to attack Lucius or Draco Malfoy if they are wearing white gloves!”

“White gloves? Whatever do you mean?”

“Trust me, Headmistress. Sorry, we have to go.”

“Good luck!” she said before her anxious head disappeared. It was obvious she did not understand what Jason intended; and she was clearly uneasy about him involving Harry. But there was no time to debate the wisdom of it now.

“Right, Harry, Tonks tells me you are a master morph-er, so let’s see you do Draco Malfoy,” said Jason, turning into a passable imitation of his father, Lucius. “Not bad, Harry, you could have fooled me. Now I’ll just transfigure our clothes into Death Eater robes and add some white gloves. We don’t want the Order to mistake us for the real thing, now do we?”

“What about masks?”

“No, let’s not bother with masks. We _do_ want the Death Eaters to recognise us, after all. Remember to use your wand. Are you ready?” Harry nodded nervously. “Boomerang Shield up the moment we materialise into Hogsmeade, right? I think you are powerful enough to hold it for as long as it will take to deal with this raiding party. If you feel like you can’t hold it much longer, send up some white sparks from your wand, and I’ll dematerialise you out of there. OK, let’s go play Confuse-a-Death Eater,” he said with a wicked grin, grabbing Harry’s hand. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

They materialised outside the Shrieking Shack, which was a little way off the main road through Hogsmeade. It was late afternoon, and the grey wintry sky was beginning to darken. “I’ve got my shield up,” said Harry. “It looks like most of them are between Zonkos and Honeydukes. How shall we play this?”

“You shoot up to the main road and head towards them, wand blazing, and I’ll materialise behind them and start picking them off from the rear. There are no side streets there for them to escape up, so we’ll have them trapped. Jump about a bit to make them think you are dodging their curses, OK?” Harry nodded, and Jason disappeared.

Harry ran up to the main road, his heart pounding, the adrenalin surging. After all the months of preparation, he was finally taking the fight to the enemy. As he rounded the corner heading towards the Post Office, he saw the Death Eaters. There were forty or fifty of them, all dressed in their black capes and wearing the traditional Death Eater masks. 

The Order had not yet arrived, and the residents of Hogsmeade were not coming out to confront the attackers. They had barricaded themselves in their cellars. Since their main object was Hogwarts, rather than attacking terrified villagers, the Death Eaters contented themselves with blasting things apart and setting fire to anything that would burn as they made their way up the street in an ugly mob.

Harry first tried the spell he used at Ginny’s tribunal to incinerate their wands, but it didn’t work. Obviously word had gotten out about it, and their wands were magically protected against fire. So he flung an Expelliarmus at the nearest Death Eater, sending him flying forty feet through the air. Fortunately for the Death Eater, he landed on a bunch of his mates, breaking his fall and scattering them like ninepins. Harry decided to use the Impediment Jinx instead; in the heat of battle, it was difficult to regulate his magical energy, and a really powerful Expelliarmus could prove lethal. Before the Death Eaters even realised they were being attacked, Harry had immobilised another five of them.

“Draco! What the hell are you doing here?” snarled a large, hulking Death Eater, advancing on Harry. It was Fenrir Greyback. Harry would have recognised the ugly brute anywhere, even with a mask. He had obviously not seen _Draco_ attacking the Death Eaters. “You and Lucius are supposed to be organising the Dementor attack at Twickenham, tomorrow. What are you doing here?”

“This!” said Harry, hitting the horrid werewolf with an inversion charm, just as _Ginny_ had done while escaping from Voldemort’s castle. Greyback suddenly felt like he was hanging upside from the road; he began screaming, as he staggered about, desperately trying to grab hold of something to stop himself from ‘falling’.

Now for some fun, thought Harry. He had just mastered dematerialising and re-materialising. So far, he’d only done it over short distances where he could see his destination, but he was fast and accurate. He began appearing and disappearing rapidly all around the Death Eaters, taking one out each time with either an Impediment Jinx or a Stupefy Charm. He could see Jason on the other side of the Death Eater mob, using his favourite Confundus Charm. They were pairing off and starting to dance briskly up and down the street. 

The Death Eaters who were still standing, looked utterly befuddled as they tried to figure out who to blast, while their colleagues waltzed all around them. Why were Lucius and Draco Malfoy here? Why were they attacking them? They didn’t dare use the Killing Curse or anything lethal against them: They were rich and powerful, and close to the Master. Of course, they could be Polyjuiced impostors, but then again, maybe not. They might even be under the Imperious Curse or something like that. Still, the Death Eaters attacked them with some very nasty hexes. Those who were unlucky enough to hit their target — or their Boomerang Shield at least — lay writhing or stunned in the street, while Harry and Jason picked off the remaining Death Eaters. They had just taken care of the last of them, when dozens of witches and wizards appeared outside the Three Broomsticks. 

“The Order’s arrived, whispered Jason. Let’s leave them to deal with this lot. I’d rather not hang about to find out whether they got the message about the white gloves. Shall we away?” he asked, taking hold of Harry’s hand. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The following afternoon, Harry went down to Jason’s office after lunch. Jason had asked him to dress warmly in Muggle clothes. “What did the Order do with all those Death Eaters in Hogsmeade yesterday?” asked Harry. “Did they hand them over to the Ministry of Magic? Now Fudge has finally woken up to Voldemort’s game and stopped kissing his backside, the Ministry might be some use.”

“Not likely,” scoffed Jason. “Fudge is even more terrified than ever. He and all his departmental heads have taken to sleeping at the Ministry, along with all the Aurors, who are providing a twenty-four hour guard. They’re all frightened out of their wits that Voldemort will turn on them because they baulked at trying to force the whole wizarding world to worship him. They certainly won’t want to do anything to provoke him further, like openly opposing him or incarcerating Death Eaters, even if they were caught on their way to attack a school.”

“The gutless slug,” spat Harry. “But the Order won’t have let them go, will they?”

“No way,” said Jason. “They have been slowly building up their numbers and expanding their operation. They have a number of secret locations where they can interrogate and imprison them. No, we needn’t worry about them; we have more other matters to attend to.”

“Like what?” asked Harry.

“Twickenham.”

“Isn’t that a football stadium?”

“Rugby,” replied Jason. “Remember, you told me how Fenrir Greyback said that the Malfoys were supposed to be organising a Dementor attack at Twickenham today?” Harry nodded. “Well, there’s a Rugby Test on between England and Ireland this afternoon. The stadium will be packed with fifty or sixty thousand fans. This is what Voldemort has been breeding his Dementors for, a mass attack on Muggles. They’ll have the feast of their lives. Just imagine it: hundreds, maybe even thousands of Muggles wandering around soul-less, like zombies. Fudge will have to cave in to Voldemort after that.”

“So are we going to use the Angelus Charm to destroy the Dementors?”

“Exactly, the diners will become the dinner! You’re dressed fine for a rugby match; maybe I’ll just transform your scarf to look more the part.”

“Hey!” protested Harry, as his yellow and gold Gryffindor scarf turned green, very much like a Slytherin one.

“Relax, patriot,” laughed Jason, unfurling his own scarf to show Harry. “It’s just the standard Irish rugby scarf.” It was dark green at the ends, lighter green in the middle, and emblazoned with the word IRELAND. “The Irish fans like to get into their Guinness; so hopefully, they won’t notice a couple more fans suddenly appearing amongst them. Obviously, we will not be using our wands. Ready?” he asked, grabbing Harry’s hand.

Harry nodded, and the next moment found himself pressed on all sides by a bunch of boozy, Irish rugby fans, cheering vociferously as the Irish team ran out onto the ground. They were soon followed by the English team who were greeted by the Irish fans with jeers, barbs, and boos. When the noise died down, a burly Irishman with a broad, red face turned towards Harry and prodded him with his beer can. “Oi, and where might you be comin’ from, laddie? Yer weren’t there a minute ago?”

“Yeah, I just got here, I’m a bit late,” mumble Harry, unsuccessfully attempting to disguise his English accent.

“Hey, yer English, ya bastard. What the fookin’ hell you think yer doin’ in our stand? Oi, lads! We got ourselves a Brit infiltrator here —” but his words were drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the Irish half-back was passed the ball from the opening scrum and began running forward. Jason, who was the only one who understood what the brawny Irish fan was saying to Harry, quickly Obliviated him. The Irishman blinked, looked at Harry, looked back at his can of Guinness, took a long swig, and turned his attention to the game. 

Harry had played a bit of football at his Muggle school, but he had never played rugby or been to a match before. Dudley and Uncle Vernon sometimes watched it on television, but Harry was never allowed to join them. He had no idea what was going on; they hardly ever kick the ball, like in football, but threw it to each other instead. It seemed like the idea was to wait until someone on the other team had the ball and then pounce on them; it all seemed pretty pointless. Give me Quidditch any day, thought Harry.

The Dementors arrived about fifteen minutes into the game. Harry saw them before he felt them this time. There were so many that they darkened the sky as they swarmed above the ground. The Muggles could not see them, but they noticed the sky darken suddenly on the clear, sunny, winter’s afternoon — and they could certainly feel them. The rugby players stopped running and lost interest in the ball. They looked around, bewildered and frightened. Soon the fans stopped puzzling about what had happened to the game and began shaking in fear. The Dementors had not yet attacked; they were simply swooping above the panicking players and over the fearful fans huddling in the grandstands.

Jason nudged Harry. He was ready; he’d been doing the advanced meditation exercise, standing. He focussed his mind and his heart completely on Ginny and bellowed: ‘Emanio Angelus’, waving his arm towards the Dementors. Hundreds of tiny angels erupted from his hand and rushed towards the Dementors, joining Jason’s. “Keep going,” said Jason, before unleashing another volley of angels; so Harry did the same. The fans around Harry and Jason moved back a few paces and stared at them open-mouthed. It seemed that while Muggles could not see Dementors, they could definitely see the tiny angels bursting from Harry and Jason’s hands. The angels flew up into the air, and then spread out around the stadium to create a protective layer between the Dementors and the rugby players on the ground and the fans in the stands. The Muggles could see the tiny translucent angels flying just above their heads, but they couldn’t see the angels devouring the Dementors.

Many of the Irish fans were devout Catholics. They began fervently crossing themselves and muttering “a miracle, a miracle,” and the like. The angels made short work of the Dementors, who made no attempt to escape. In less than five minutes, they had devoured every last one of Voldemort’s evil creatures.

Jason nodded to Harry. Together they did a silent Finite Incantatum spell, and the angels vanished. An exclamation of astonishment and disappointment arose from around the ground at the angels’ sudden disappearance. Jason turned in a circle Obliviating everyone near enough to have seen him and Harry producing the angels. Then he reached for Harry’s hand and they disappeared right before the eyes of the already bewildered Irish fans. 


	15. The Final Horcrux

_**Chapter 15 ~ The Final Horcrux** _

“We’ve been extremely lucky so far, in thwarting Voldemort’s attacks,” said Jason, “but our luck can’t hold forever.” It was the day after the Dementor attack at Twickenham, and Jason had asked Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny to come to his office after dinner.

“It’s only a matter of time until Voldemort succeeds in a massive attack, causing large numbers of casualties,” reflected Hermione, grimly “It looks like he’s switched to attacking Muggles; they’re virtually defenceless, and there are so many big, soft targets to choose from.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “and as soon as he scores a king hit, Fudge will cave in for sure.”

“Giving Voldemort and his Death Eaters all the resources and infrastructure of the Ministry,” continued Hermione gloomily. “The Order of the Phoenix won’t be able to hold out for very long after that. And we all have a pretty good idea of how things will unfold once Voldemort takes over — I certainly do, after visiting the dream reality where he triumphed.”

“Well, we can’t just wait for him to launch a massive attack,” said Harry desperately. “We have to stop him, now. _I_ have to stop him!”

Jason sighed. “Harry, your power is growing constantly, but you are not ready yet to take him on.”

“Plus, it would be pointless,” said Hermione. “You know Voldemort can’t be permanently killed until the final Horcrux has been destroyed.”

“So, what did you find out about the sixth Horcrux?” asked Harry, looking intently at Jason.

“Very little, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Harry. “You said you could get at any memory in Voldemort’s mind, and you had plenty of opportunity while you were in his castle masquerading as Ginny. How come you don’t know all about it?”

Jason sighed. “Because, with the final Horcrux, Voldemort went one step further in his paranoid obsession to guarantee his precious immortality. After hiding it, he memory-charmed himself.”

“Then it’s hopeless. We’ll _never_ find it … and we’ll _never_ be able to kill him,” said Harry dejectedly.

“Hang on,” said Hermione. “How do you know he Obliviated himself?”

“Voldemort made a second trip to a dream reality — not Lily’s _Future of Darkness_ , but a different dream reality. He remembers using the incantation to visit it, but he has no recollection of what happened there. He only remembers that he planned to conceal the final Horcrux there and that he Obliviated his memories just before returning. You have to admit, it was extremely cunning. He made certain that neither he — nor the Voldemort in the dream reality — knew anything about the final Horcrux, so there was no possibility of anyone ever finding out about it.”

“So it _is_ hopeless,” said Ron, echoing Harry’s negative prognosis.

“Not necessarily,” said Jason. “Although I am not alive in that reality, and therefore cannot travel to it, I was able to view it like a dream in which I was not present. I saw enough to surmise the significant events in its past — and in particular, the crucial event that caused it to diverge from our reality.”

“What was that?” asked Ginny.

“It was a decision made by a witch named Miranda Malfoy. Ginny, I presume you know the sad story of how Severus became a Death Eater and was ordered to recruit Miranda Malfoy, and then to kill her, when she refused to join?” Ginny nodded. “When he was unable to convince Miranda to become a Death Eater, Severus begged her to flee or to go into hiding to save herself — and to save him from having to carry out the order to kill her. The point of divergence between the two realities is Miranda’s choice. In our reality she refused all of Severus’ entreaties. But in the dream reality, she eventually changed her mind and accepted his offer to help her hide. 

“In this other reality, Severus mastered the Fidelius Charm and became Miranda’s Secret Keeper. After casting the spell, he went into hiding himself. Miranda chose to hide with her best friend, Lily Potter, her husband James, and their baby, Harry, at Godric’s Hollow so that the Fidelius Charm would also protect them. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, they were in constant danger themselves.”

“But you said that multiple realities are only created when human history reaches a crucial crossroads, when some fundamental event will determine two very different futures,” recalled Hermione. “Surely Miranda’s choice could not have been so significant.”

“But it was. You see, this happened _before_ Severus overhead Sybil Trelawney giving the prophecy to Dumbledore at the Hog’s Head, so —”

“So Snape was already in hiding the night Trelawney gave the prophecy — which means that Voldemort never heard the prophecy in that reality,” finished Hermione, excitedly. “He had no reason to kill Harry —”

“Are my parents still alive in that reality?” asked Harry hopefully.

“Unfortunately not,” said Jason. “Because he did not hear the prophecy, Voldemort did not try to kill you, and hence, he did not lose his body. By the time you were two years old, his victory was complete. Your father died bravely in battle, fighting for the Order. Severus was caught soon after the war ended and killed for desertion. But, despite being brutally interrogated, he maintained right to the end that he had defied his orders and never attempted to recruit Miranda Malfoy, putting her completely in the clear. He must have known, when he came up with the plan to hide her, that it would cost him his life if Voldemort won.”

“But what about my mother?” asked Harry impatiently.

“When Severus was killed, the Fidelius Charm protecting Godric’s Hollow ended, and Lily was killed.”

“But why?” asked Harry. 

“Because your mother was a Muggle-born witch. The outcome of Voldemort’s victory was very much the same she had foreseen in her _Future of Darkness_ vision; and as witnessed by Hermione. Squibs and Muggle-born witches and wizards were ruthlessly exterminated, along with witches and wizards who had married Muggles and their Muggle spouses. Anyone who had been in the Order of the Phoenix or opposed Voldemort was also killed. They all perished in the _Great Purification_.”

“So was I brought up by the Dursleys in that reality, too?”

“No, Miranda Malfoy raised you and your sister.”

“My sister? I had a sister?” asked Harry with surprise.

“Yes, Rosa. She would have been your sister in this reality, too, had your mother not been killed by Voldemort.”

“You mean Harry’s sister was conceived before this other reality diverged — before Miranda made her choice?” asked Ginny.

“Yes, Lily was pregnant at the time. She certainly would have known she was with child when she died in our reality,” he said, sighing sadly.

“So the sacrifice she made to save Harry was a _double_ sacrifice,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “She knew she was sacrificing not only her own life but also that of her unborn baby. The extraordinary power of the protection she gave Harry has always been a great mystery. Perhaps it was because she sacrificed two lives that the magic was strong enough to stop Voldemort’s Killing Curse, and make it rebound on him.”

“Yes, I suspect so,” mused Jason. “Other witches have sacrificed their lives attempting to save their babies, but without conferring the same protection. Of course, Lily was a very powerful witch; but still, it seems almost certain that only the willing sacrifice of both her own life and that of her unborn daughter would have been enough to protect Harry from a wizard as powerful as Voldemort. Lily was well aware that there were more lives at stake than just theirs. She knew from her visions that the whole future of the wizarding world and many thousands of lives depended upon Harry’s survival.”

Harry found this new knowledge distressing. Not only had his mother died to save him, but his unborn sister had been sacrificed, too.

“Would you like to meet her?” asked Jason.

“What?”

“Well, I can’t travel to this other reality because I don’t exist in it,” explained Jason.

“Yes you do,” argued Hermione. “You left England after school, a couple of years before this dream reality diverged from ours, so you would have been safe.”

“Yes, I would have … had I not returned. But, it seems that after James was killed, Miranda sent me an owl, which amazingly found me in Bhutan. She wrote that Lily needed me and told me that Severus was their Secret Keeper and where he was hiding. Severus allowed me to find Godric’s Hollow. I got back a week before Rosa was born. By that time, things were looking pretty grim; it was only a matter of months until Voldemort’s final victory. When it became immanent, we begged Miranda to leave with Harry and Rosa. Lily and I were together when the Death Eaters came. We put up a good fight, but I had not yet learned to connect with the _Source_ , and in the end we died together. So you see, Harry, I am no longer alive in that world.”

“But … Hermione and Ron … and Ginny are,” said Harry.

“Yes, but you are the obvious person for the job. You will take all the powers and magic you have developed in this world with you. You will be the most powerful wizard in that world — except perhaps for Voldemort and Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore! But surely he died in the war?” cried Harry.

“The final battle was at Hogwarts; everywhere else had fallen. Dumbledore fought on steadfastly, along with his professors, but eventually the castle fell to the Death Eaters, and only Dumbledore remained undefeated. He retreated to his office, magically sealing it. It took Voldemort several days to destroy Dumbledore’s wards. Voldemort Apparated into the office with twenty of his best fighters to slay his great foe. But Albus Dumbledore was gone. He had vanished without a trace and was never found.”

“So you think he’s still alive in that reality, hiding somewhere, biding his time, hoping to mount an insurrection against Voldemort?” suggested Hermione.

“Perhaps,” replied Jason, “although I don’t see how any form of opposition could be organised in the draconian police state that Voldemort has imposed. You have to find Dumbledore, Harry; it’s our only chance of destroying the final Horcrux. Dumbledore may know where the Horcrux is concealed, or he may be able to help you find it.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Professor Binns was droning on monotonously about Goblin rebellions again; and Harry was dozing off again, dreaming about Quidditch again. He was racing after the golden Snitch, his hand outstretched … yes! He wrapped his fingers around it, grinning ecstatically, and turned his head to savour the look of fury and frustration on Malfoy’s face … he’d beaten him again! His team-mates were racing upwards to congratulate him. But why were they wearing those funny Quidditch robes? They were the wrong colour: scarlet and gold, instead of blue and bronze. Harry felt confused. The commentator was announcing the final score, ‘Gryffindor two hundred and eighty points to Slytherin eighty points.’ _Gryffindor?_ But there was no such house, not anymore; it had been closed down years ago, long before Harry started at Hogwarts. He was a Ravenclaw, right? _No! said_ his dream self, _I’m a Gryffindor!_ But was it a dream? It seemed so real. Harry shook his confused head and struggled to open his eyes. He looked down at his blue and bronze tie, just to reassure himself. Yes of course he was in Ravenclaw; it was just a silly dream.

Binns’ voice droned on, hypnotically, and Harry drifted off to sleep again and straight back into the weird dream, the one where he was in Gryffindor. The dream took a stronger hold on him this time, taking him to a strange world: A world where everything was different … where Gryffindor house still existed, where the teachers were all different — except for boring, old Binns (or his ghost at least). There were a lot more students at Hogwarts, and some of them were Muggle-born. How strange it all seemed. But was it really a dream? It seemed so real, and he had the memory of living his whole life in this strange world. But it was a very different life. He had been brought up by a horrible Muggle aunt and uncle instead of Miranda. He had no sister, just a nasty cousin named Dudley. But there was more: He was famous. The Dark Emperor had tried to kill him when he was just a baby, but he’d failed. He was called the _Boy Who Lived_ , and he was fated to fight the Dark Emperor. It seemed like some incredible fantasy, but _was_ it just a dream?

The bell rang, waking Harry with a start. History of Magic was over. Professor Binns drifted backwards through the blackboard and disappeared. Everyone was rushing out of the classroom, relieved because the last class on Friday afternoon was over. Harry rose unsteadily to his feet, feeling dazed. He couldn’t seem to wake up properly from the strange dream; his head felt like it was bursting, as if there were two different people inside. He headed for his dorm. He needed to lie down and get a grip on himself. He was walking on autopilot until he noticed he had been going in the wrong direction, towards a disused part of the castle, known as Gryffindor Tower. Harry shook his head and turned back towards Ravenclaw Tower, keeping his head down and ignoring people he passed along the way. Finally he was back in his deserted dormitory. He kicked off his shoes, pulled the heavy blue curtains around his four-poster bed, lay on his back, closed his eyes, and tried to relax.

But it was hopeless. Harry’s mind was assaulted by competing thoughts. _I’m in Ravenclaw_ … _no, I’m in Gryffindor_. _I was raised by Miranda Malfoy_ … _no, it was the Dursleys. Umbridge is the Hogwarts Headmistress_ … _no, it’s been McGonagall ever since Snape killed Dumbledore_. The thoughts came faster and faster, Harry’s head was spinning out of control; he had to stop the mental deluge or he’d go crazy. _I have a sister named_ — _No! Stop! cried_ Harry to himself, pushing the thought away. _I have to find the final Horcrux so I can_ — _No! Stop!_ _My_ — _No! Jason_ — _No!_ He was pushing back each thought as it entered his mind before he even knew what it was. As soon as one thought had been pushed away, another immediately arose. Gradually, it became easier to stop the thoughts entering his mind. They began to slow down. There were gaps between them now, and the gaps were getting longer and longer….

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

_I’m not breathing_ , thought Harry, _and my heart isn’t beating._ He placed a hand on his chest. He felt his heart beat, but it seemed faint and very, very slow. Then he noticed himself inhaling gently, and after a long while, breathing out. Harry’s mind was empty, completely empty. He felt a deep sense of bliss and contentment. It was similar to the experience he had meditating with Jason, but far, far deeper. He felt limitless, as if he were more than just this body and mind, as if he went on and on forever, as if there was nothing but him … he was everything … he was the _Source._ Harry smiled and took another slow, peaceful breath. This was what Jason meant by being completely connected with the _Source_. Now he understood.

Harry lay with his mind completely empty for a long time. Eventually he opened his eyes; it was dark. He could hear the soft snoring of his dorm-mates. It was night-time, and he had missed dinner. It must be hours since he first lay on his bed. He was still fully clothed. Harry remembered the awful confusion that had assailed his mind. It had been so oppressive that it had forced him to empty his mind; he had used Jason’s advanced meditation method. _Jason?_ Yes, something else had changed. He, Harry Potter, the Gryffindor, the _Boy Who Lived_ , had now come fully into the dream reality. He knew he was visiting a dream reality — a shadow world that would have been real if Miranda Malfoy had chosen differently. He remembered everything about the real world — his world — but he also knew everything about his life in this shadow world, and he knew it was just a dream. He knew exactly why he was here … and the crucial task which lay before him. But somehow it no longer felt daunting or overwhelming because he was completely connected to the _Source_ — he was part of it. In using the advanced meditation technique to empty his chaotic mind, he had entered a profound state of meditation, like none he had ever experienced before, and he had somehow forged a permanent link with the _Source_. Harry smiled contentedly before drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When Harry awoke, the dormitory was empty. Weak wintry sunshine streamed in through the high windows. Harry was starving; he didn’t want to miss breakfast. Still wearing his clothes from yesterday, he went to the bathroom to wash his face before heading down to the Great Hall. He looked in the mirror — something was wrong! Of course! His famous scar was gone. The Harry in this reality didn’t have one.

When he entered the Great Hall, the first thing Harry noticed was there were only three tables. Instinctively, he knew which one was the Ravenclaw table, just as he knew everything about this world. It was like watching a movie: He knew everything that had happened so far, all the characters and their histories. In fact, _he_ was one of the characters in the movie. Yet, at the same time, he was the person watching the movie, with his own separate life and history, in a completely different reality. This was so weird.

A young witch with dark red hair looked up at him enquiringly and made room for him to sit beside her. “Where were you last night, Harry? I didn’t see you at dinner, and you weren’t in the common room afterwards. Are you alright? Harry, what’s the matter with you? Why are you looking at me so strangely?”

Harry shook his head and mumbled something about being tired after class and sleeping right through, as he sat down, and tried to stop staring at his sister, Rosa, who the Harry in this reality had known all his life. Her lustrous, red hair was darker than Ginny’s. It framed her pale face beautifully, and her eyes were exactly the same shade of green as his. He was struck by her remarkable resemblance to their mother, who was only a couple of years older than Rosa when he went back in time to meet her in the Shrieking Shack. “Harry, what on earth is the matter with you this morning? Why are you staring at me like that? Snap out of it! An owl just came from Miranda; we’re going down to Devon to spend Christmas with her like we always do. And I hope you know what to get me.”

“Huh … what?” asked Harry confused, reaching for some egg and toast and trying to distract himself from his sister’s mesmerising face.

“For heaven’s sake, Ginny told you. I know she did. We decided that since you didn’t have a clue about buying gifts for girls, we would each tell you what to get the other for Christmas. I told you to get her that enchanted bracelet from Gladrags next Hogsmeade weekend, remember?”

“Err … yeah,” mumbled Harry, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth to give himself time to think. _Ginny’s my girlfriend in this reality too but where is she? he_ wondered, looking quickly up and down the table. Oh, of course she’s not here; Ginny and Ron are both in Slytherin! Harry reflected that this dream reality was almost identical to the one Hermione had visited, which was hardly surprising. Although it had originally parted from Harry’s reality a couple of years later, events in both dream realities only became significantly different from his reality on October 31st, 1981, the night Voldemort tried to kill him. In Harry’s reality, Voldemort disappeared for fourteen years; but in both dream realities, he survived and was victorious, with pretty much the same terrible consequences. The main difference between the two dream realities was that in the one Hermione visited, his mother stayed with Jason, and so he and Rosa were never born, and Miranda Malfoy became the Transfiguration Professor. Whereas in this one, Miranda stayed home to raise him and his sister until Rosa started at Hogwarts, when she took a part-time job. In this reality, Peter Pettigrew was the Transfiguration Professor, and he was bloody hopeless. But then most of the Hogwarts staff in this reality were hopeless, thought Harry. The standard of seventh-year NEWTs was not even up to fifth-year OWLs in his reality.

The Great Hall seemed somehow empty. Of course! None of the Muggle-born students, like Hermione and Dean Thomas were here. Looking around, Harry wondered why he didn’t recognise any of the students from fifth year down. Then the penny dropped: They had all been conceived since October 31st, 1981. Many of the sixth and seventh years from his reality were in different houses here, except for the Slytherins, who, being mostly pure-bloods, had a high enough _Purity Rating_ to be in Slytherin in this reality, too — except for Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, who were both Ravenclaws. Neville Longbottom, along with Ron and Ginny Weasley, were in Slytherin. Like many other students, their parents had died in the war against Voldemort, and they had been brought up by relatives. But, being pure-bloods, they were Slytherins, nevertheless. In fact, the Weasleys had a _Purity Rating_ of nine-plus, which was the highest and very rare; it caused Ginny no end of trouble. Having their children _marry_ _up_ , as it was known, was a prime preoccupation of every parent. Lucius Malfoy was determined to have Ginny Weasley as his daughter-in-law; and Draco, the Hogwarts Head Boy, was under a great deal of pressure to woo her. But he had no chance. Like the rest of her family, Ginny detested the Malfoys, who had been instrumental in the Dark Emperor’s victory, in which both her parents had died. She especially disliked Draco, who was even more arrogant and big-headed than he was in Harry’s reality; and anyway, her heart belonged to Harry Potter, even if he was a nobody with a low _Purity Rating_.

“Harry! Oi! Anyone home?” cried Rosa waving her hands in front of Harry, who was lost in thought. “Did you hear me? I asked you if you remembered the arrangements for the Hogsmeade weekend.”

“What arrangements?”

“For heaven’s sake, Harry, I know Ginny has been through all of this with you. Ron is going to tag along with Ginny, and she’s going to bring me along as well. So it will end up as a kind of foursome. Remember?”

“Err, yeah … sort of,” replied Harry. “But why can’t Ron just ask you out if he wants to go to Hogsmeade with you? That’s the part I don’t understand — not that I want you going on a date with Ron Weasley — or anyone else for that matter! You’re only in fifth year, which is way too young to be dating!” huffed Harry.

“And how old was Ginny when you two started dating? As I recall she was in fourth year!” said Rosa, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah, but that’s different!” exclaimed Harry.

“Oh? And how, exactly?” demanded Rosa, archly.

“Well, because … err … well it is; that’s all! And, at least I didn’t need to ask my sister to jack it up for me. If he really likes you, he can ask you himself.”

“Oh, he likes me,” said Rosa. “But, according to Ginny, he’s just too scared to ask me out. He gets all shy and self-conscious.”

“But then why do you want to go out with the immature git?” asked Harry, suddenly feeling a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Because I like him, you idiot!” said Rosa, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “Listen, you and Ron will get on just fine in Hogsmeade. You can talk about Quidditch; and if you exhaust that topic, you can always commiserate with each other on the misfortune of having younger sisters to protect and having to always be warding away the wizards. That should keep you both going for ages. Not that I have nearly so many wizards for you to ward off as Ginny does. That reminds me, you should thank Ron. He did you a big favour tipping you off about Malfoy.”

“What? Oh yeah, the warning about the attack. Don’t worry, I can deal with Malfoy.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry; you really need to be on your guard. Malfoy is determined to take Ginny from you, and he’ll stop at nothing. Ron says Malfoy has been getting special tutoring in the Dark Arts from his father and other Death Eater experts for years. He knows heaps of nasty stuff that isn’t in the Hogwarts curriculum and he won’t play fair — you know what he’s like — and he’ll have his whole obnoxious gang with him. Please be careful, Harry.”

“He won’t know what hit him,” said Harry with a grin.

“Harry, please! Don’t be so silly,” begged Rosa fearfully. “You can’t take on the whole bunch of them. Please try to stay out of his way and don’t go off by yourself.”

“As if that would make any difference,” complained Harry. “Malfoy’s a law unto himself. He does exactly as he pleases, and none of the professors or that stupid cow Umbridge ever do anything to stop him. With his father in charge of the Death Eaters and all the other secret security forces, they’re all scared to death of him. He could attack me in the Great Hall, and they’d pretend not to notice — or they’d say it was my fault.” 

“Please, just be careful,” pleaded Rosa.

“Alright,” said Harry. But secretly he was hoping Malfoy would attack him. He would get the surprise of his life.

“What are you doing after breakfast?” asked Rosa.

“I thought I’d go down to the Quidditch pitch and practice. We’re up against Slytherin next, and I need to be really sharp. Malfoy has a much faster broom than mine.”

“Yes, but he can’t fly half as well as you, Harry, which is why he’s never beaten you to the Snitch.”

“Yeah, and I plan to keep it that way,” said Harry, grinning. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

Harry was relishing the feeling of the cold wind in his face as he raced after the Golden Snitch. He was having a great time, even if the Cleansweep Eleven he had in this reality was not in the same class as his beloved Firebolt. He dived after the Snitch as it plummeted towards the ground. Just as he was levelling out, he spotted them: Malfoy, with Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple of his other thugs. They were still far away, but they were obviously heading in his direction. Harry grinned to himself. Ever since his experience the previous night, when he had connected with the _Source_ , the link had remained. He knew his magical power must be enormous, but he would have to be careful to disguise it — for the sake of the Harry in this dream reality — otherwise, Lucius Malfoy’s secret police would be onto him for sure.

“ _Protego_ ,” said Harry, throwing up a shield to protect himself, before turning his attention back to the Snitch, which was almost within his grasp. It only took a few seconds more, and he had it firmly in his hand. He pocketed the snitch and drew his wand; it was time to deal to Malfoy. The wand looked unfamiliar. He did not have the same wand — the brother wand to Voldemort’s — in this reality; but then Voldemort had not tried to kill him in this reality, and had not put his mark on him. They had no connection. He was not the _Boy Who Lived_ here; he was just plain, ordinary, Harry Potter the half-blood, nobody special. No-one that high and mighty Malfoy would expect to be a match for him and his gang.

Harry’s attackers were now close enough to begin their barrage of hexes and curses. Harry ducked and dived, twisted and turned, to give his pursuers the impression their hexes and curses were missing him — which they mostly were. He had deliberately not used the Boomerang Shield because he suspected they might use something lethal or try to knock him off his broom. He didn’t want it to rebound and kill them. As they were still quite close to the ground, Harry suddenly did a one-eighty degree turn and accelerated back towards them, casting Incendo charms on his attackers’ broomsticks — everyone’s but Malfoy’s — who he was saving for some one-on-one fun. As Malfoy’s thugs sped to the ground, their flaming brooms trailing clouds of smoke, Harry flew head-on at Malfoy, whose cowardly face turned white with horror as he desperately dived to avoid being hit.

Harry rose steeply, taking the opportunity to put some distance between himself and Malfoy, who sped after him in hot pursuit. In theory, Malfoy’s Firebolt was much faster than Harry’s broom, but Harry had magically enhanced the speed of his trusty Cleansweep. He continued to twist and turn, making Malfoy think his curses were missing. Harry sped towards the Forbidden Forest — he had a plan; he just needed to keep Malfoy on his tail for a little longer, so he had to remain within range of his curses. 

Harry was hoping Malfoy didn’t know too much about the Forbidden Forrest and wouldn’t realise where he was being led. When Harry finally spotted the place he was looking for, he dived slowly, letting Malfoy draw nearer. Suddenly he turned on him. Magical ropes shot out from Harry’s wand and wrapped themselves around Malfoy. Harry tied the end of the rope to his broom before hitting Malfoy with a Disarming Spell, which sent his wand flying towards Harry, who caught it deftly. Then, he used a Banishing Charm on Malfoy’s broom, to make it shoot out from under him and fall to the forest floor. Malfoy plummeted after it, only to be jerked back up like a yoyo, as he reached the end of the rope. He was now trussed-up and suspended twenty feet beneath Harry’s broom and utterly helpless.

“Let me go, Potter!” demanded Malfoy. “If you do anything to me, my father will punish you. Release me this minute, Potter, if you know what’s good for you!”

“Trying to frighten me with your big, bad, ugly, Death Eater, daddy, are you Malfoy? Well, it won’t work.”

“Want to bet Potter? Just you wait till I tell Father what you called him. He’ll have you killed by his secret police.”

“But, you won’t be getting the chance to tell him, Malfoy,” said Harry dangerously. “You won’t be telling daddy on me — or anyone one else — ever again.”

“What do you mean?” asked Malfoy, unable to conceal his growing uneasiness.

“You won’t be coming back alive,” said Harry grinning down at him evilly.

“If y-you kill me, my father will make sure you d-die a horrible death. He’ll put you under the C-Cruciatus Curse and give you to the D-Dementors to suck out your soul.”

“But no one is _ever_ going to know what happened to you, Malfoy. You were last seen chasing me into the Forbidden Forest. I’ll just say I landed and hid from you in some bushes before making my way back to school. I’ll be in the clear. No one would ever suspect that lowly Harry Potter, with a _Purity Rating_ of a mere four, could have despatched and disposed of the mighty Malfoy heir, the purest of the pure,” said Harry sarcastically. “Your body will never be found, Malfoy.”

“W-why not? W-what do you mean?” stuttered Malfoy fearfully.

“Look down, Malfoy. Take a good look at where we are going,” said Harry as he slowly descended in a tight spiral with his captive slung beneath his broom towards the Acromantula colony.

“Help!” screamed Mafoy in terror. “W-what are those things?” The Acromantulas had spotted the two wizards coming towards them. They streamed out from their nest, making terrible clicking noises with their pincers as they looked hungrily upwards. 

“Acromantulas, Malfoy. Giant spiders. _Venomous, man-eating,_ giant spiders,” said Harry, stopping his descent and flying slowly in a tight circle with Malfoy hanging within a few feet of the enormous spiders. “You demanded that I let you go — well, that’s exactly what I plan to do. I’m going to end the Incarcerous spell right now. When the rope disappears, you’ll fall right into their waiting jaws. They’ll devour you — every last repulsive bit of you — without leaving a trace. Goodbye, Malfoy, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure —”

“N-No! Wait! P-Please! Help! Please don’t release me. P-Please, I’ll give you money, as much as you want, anything, but please don’t let me go!” he begged, as Harry descended a little lower, putting Malfoy within inches of the enormous spider legs clawing upwards at him. 

“But you were demanding that I let you go just a minute ago. Have you changed your mind?” taunted Harry. “You were threatening to set your big, bad daddy onto me. You see the predicament I’m in, Malfoy? I can’t let you go now because you’ll rat on me to your father, and you already told me what he’ll do to me. So really, I have no choice but to let the Acromantulas have you. Sorry, goodbye —”

“No! P-Please don’t do it! Please! D-Don’t let those horrible things get me! P-Please fly higher! I promise I won’t tell my father. I promise not to say anything about this, not to any one, I promise!”

“How about a binding Wizard’s Oath then, Malfoy, including a promise to leave me alone. Will you give me that, to save your miserable life?”

“Yes, yes, please, I promise! Anything, anything you want.”

“OK,” said Harry. “Listen very carefully, this is the oath: _I swear a binding Wizard’s Oath that I will never bother or attempt to harm Harry or Rosa Potter, Ginny Weasley, or any of their friends. I will never ask anyone else to hassle or harm them. I will never say anything bad to anyone about any of them. I will not tell anyone what happened here in the forest today. If asked, I will say that Harry Potter got away from me. As soon as I am released, I will return immediately to school_. Go on, Malfoy, repeat it, and be quick about it before I change my mind!”

Malfoy didn’t hesitate; he repeated the oath word-for-word. He was so frightened of the giant spiders snapping at him, only inches away, he would have promised anything. Harry slowly rose up in the air to the great disappointment of the Acromantulas. He flew back to where he had unseated Malfoy, and summoned his broom from the forest floor. “Open your legs, Malfoy,” he yelled as the broom came up beneath him. Once Malfoy was seated on his broom, Harry ended the Incarcerous spell with Finite Incantatum. Malfoy grabbed hold of his broom handle and immediately fled towards Hogwarts. 

Harry raced after him. “Oi! Aren’t you forgetting something, Malfoy?”

“What?” asked Malfoy, looking back fearfully over his shoulder.

“This,” said Harry, throwing him his wand.

Malfoy caught the wand and then flew away as fast as he could go.

Harry chuckled. He had really enjoyed putting the wind up the frightened little ferret. He deserved it … and the Wizard’s Oath would ensure that Harry and Ginny, in this dream reality, would be left alone from now on. Looking upwards, something caught Harry’s eye; it was a bird circling high above. He remembered seeing it briefly when he was lowering Malfoy towards the Acromantulas, but he had been too busy to pay it any attention. It seemed unnatural for a bird to be circling in the same spot for such a long time. Harry decided to investigate. 


	16. The Enchanted Cave

_**Chapter 16 ~ The Enchanted Cave** _

Harry pointed his broom upwards and accelerated towards the bird. It looked like an eagle or some other bird of prey. As he approached it, the bird stopped circling and sped away. Harry gave chase; it was all he could do to keep it in sight. He was beginning to wonder if it really was a bird at all. Could it be an Animagus? One of Lucius Malfoy’s spies, perhaps? If it was, and he’d been seen sporting with Draco, it would be the end of him (in this reality at least) and the end of the plan to destroy Voldemort’s final Horcrux. He had to catch the spy! He would force the Animagus to transform and then Obliviate him or her.

The bird flew deeper and deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Harry was slowly starting to gain on it when it suddenly went into a vertical dive with such speed that he completely lost it. Descending to just above the treetops, Harry circled around searching for it. But it was no good; the bird had vanished. He would never find it now; it could be hiding anywhere in the undergrowth. But wait, maybe there was a way! Jason had taught him how to cast a magical map of his surroundings, although so far, all he had managed was a fuzzy, shadowy blur. But now that he was connected with the _Source_ , he was sure he could do much better. The bird had to be hiding somewhere nearby. If it was an Animagus, then the name of the witch or wizard should show on the magical map.

Harry landed in a small clearing before closing his eyes and projecting a magical mental map of the surrounding forest. This time it was brilliantly clear, and his suspicions were confirmed: It was an Animagus! But the name on the map surprised him. _Regulus_ _Black!_ Apparently, Voldemort hadn’t killed him in this reality. Harry thought about it. Maybe Black had not been ordered to create the protective enchantments in the cave and to hide Slytherin’s locket. Maybe Voldemort hadn’t gone to such lengths to conceal his Horcruxes in this reality. Anyway, Regulus Black was very much alive, and almost certainly still a Death Eater … and spying for Lucius Malfoy. He had to be Obliviated!

Harry walked cautiously in Black’s direction, his keen Seeker’s eyes on the lookout for the slightest movement. Black might make a dash for it and fly away. Harry knew the spell to force an Animagus to transform. He would have to use it before the bird got too far from the ground; he didn’t want to kill Black — just memory-charm him. Harry stopped to cast his magical map again. Black was still in front of him, but it was hard to tell how far. Harry found himself entering a narrow gully, which was almost completely hidden by the trees. He walked along the gully for about fifty yards before stopping to cast his magical map again. That was strange; it showed Black behind him, and on his right side. Harry retraced his steps and tried casting the map again. Black appeared to be deep within the granite wall of the gully now, a little lower than Harry. How was that possible? There must be a cave in the side of the gully. Harry searched for a concealed opening, but he found nothing. Eventually he gave up and sat on the ground, trying to work out where Black could be. He knew there had to be a cave right next to him, and that Black was hiding in it, but how could he get to him?

Of course! He could dematerialise and then re-materialise right into the cave. He knew which direction he had to go, but not how far. However, by casting a magical map from further up and then further back along the gully and noting Black’s direction from both locations, he was able to figure out that Black was twenty feet in from the gully. Harry drew his wand, ready to stun Black the moment he materialised in the cave.

But it was Harry who was stunned — metaphorically, at least. What on earth had he done? His attempt at dematerialising and re-materialising appeared to have gone seriously wrong. Bewildered, he stared about him. He was not in a cave at all, but an office. And it wasn’t just any office either; it was the office of the Hogwarts Headmistress. In this dream reality he had never been in this office, but in his own reality he had visited it often. And it looked exactly as he remembered it. Suddenly his wand flew out of his hand, and he felt himself being forced down into a sturdy wooden chair, to which his wrists and ankles were magically bound.

Harry waited with dread for the smug Hem-hemming of the horrible Headmistress Umbridge. But it didn’t come. Instead, a wizard appeared out of nowhere in the large chair behind the desk. “Professor Dumbledore!” gasped Harry. “What are you doing here? What have I done? Where am I? I was attempting to dematerialise and re-materialise myself into a cave, but somehow I seem to be somewhere completely different. Have I moved into another reality … or gone back in time? Where am I?”

“If you do not mind, young man, I would prefer to ask the questions. You will notice that the role of interrogator appears to be mine,” he said, placing Harry’s wand on the desk. “Perhaps you could begin by telling me your name; you seem to have the advantage of me in that respect.”

“Err … Harry Potter, sir.”

“Ah yes … I knew your parents. You look remarkably like your father.”

“But, wait, what world am I in? Which reality is this?” asked Harry, feeling completely confused. “Is this the same reality I was in a moment ago, where I was chasing Regulus Black through the Forbidden Forest? Where Umbridge is Hogwarts Headmistress and Voldemort triumphed and calls himself the Dark Emperor?”

“Who are you that dare to call him by that name?” asked Dumbledore suspiciously. “You cannot be who you claim to be. No Hogwarts student would dare utter that name; the punishment is death. I think this merits closer examination,” he said, pointing his wand at Harry and saying, “Legilimens.”

Harry instinctively blocked his mind, using the technique Jason taught him to make it impenetrable. This was the first time he had succeeded — and just in time, too! Was the wizard on the other side of the desk really Albus Dumbledore? Harry cast his magical map. No! _Regulus_ _Black_ , it insisted. Not only that, but the map showed the gully and the forest surrounding him. So, he was still in the same reality _and_ the same place. Somehow Black had enchanted the cave to look like the Hogwarts Headmistress’ office. Not only was Regulus an Animagus like his brother, Sirius, he was also a Metamorphmagus like his cousin, Tonks! Right, Harry decided: time to take control. The magical ropes binding him suddenly unravelled and flew across the room to bind Black, whose wand flew from his hand into Harry’s.

“That’s much better,” said Harry, rising from the wooden chair, picking up his wand from the desk and replacing it with Black’s.

Black stared at him, disbelievingly. “How on earth did you do that? And how did you prevent me from penetrating your mind? Who are you?”

“Well, Black, it seems the tables are turned, and the role of interrogator is mine,” said Harry with a grin. “So how about you morph back to yourself, _Regulus_ _Alphard Black_. I’m finding it rather confusing with you looking like Dumbledore.”

“Why do you keep insisting that I am Black?” he asked.

“I don’t mind telling you, Black, because in a minute, I’m going to Obliviate you. You will have no recollection of seeing me in the Forbidden Forrest today. Did your brother Sirius ever tell you about the Marauders Map he and his friends created when they were at school?”

Black remained silent.

“It was a magical map of Hogwarts, which, amongst other things, identified everyone by name. I can project something like it in my mind, and it clearly labels you as Regulus Black, so you can cut the Dumbledore pretence right now. I already guessed you were a bird Animagus when I was chasing you on my broom. No doubt you’re spying for Lucius Malfoy. You saw what I did to his precious little brat, Draco, so I decided to catch you and erase the memory. It’s nothing personal, simply a matter of survival.”

“Who are you?” asked Black again. “Since you are going to Obliviate me anyway, you might as well satisfy my curiosity first. You cannot be who you claim to be. No Hogwarts student could be that powerful.”

“I am a Hogwarts student, but not from your world, Black … or at least not from your reality.”

“I do not understand. Who are you?”

“Harry Potter, just as I said, except I’m Harry Potter from the real world. This world is not real; it’s only a dream reality, a shadow reality that never eventuated because someone made a choice that led to a whole series of events, one of which was Voldemort attempting to kill me when I was a year old and almost killing himself instead. His body was destroyed, and he disappeared for fourteen years, until he managed to create a new body a few years ago. So, my reality — the real world — is very different from this one. Your evil Master has not triumphed there; he does not rule it, although he has been trying hard since his return … except I’m going to stop him!”

“Just as in Lily’s prophecy,” said Black, staring thoughtfully into space.

“How do you know about my mother’s prophecy?” demanded Harry.

“Because she related it to me, many years ago. I really _am_ Albus Dumbledore,” said Black — or was it really Dumbledore? “And I believe you are who you claim to be and even that you are from a different world — one that is real. I have long suspected that this world has become some kind of shadow reality. For many years now, it has seemed somehow ephemeral and insubstantial; but there was no way of knowing — until now. I am greatly relieved to have my suspicions confirmed, because this world has sunk into great darkness.”

“If you really are Albus Dumbledore, why does my magical map label you as _Regulus_ _Black_?”

“A magical alias, designed to fool post owls,” replied Dumbledore, smiling. “After the fall of Hogwarts, I escaped from my office in my Animagus form, a peregrine falcon. Naturally Voldemort’s Death Eaters made great efforts to find me. It is a simple matter to locate a hidden wizard by sending him a message by post owl and following it; but my magical alias confounded all such attempts.”

“But, don’t you get Regulus Black’s messages?”

“No one sends messages to Regulus Black. He died at the hand of his Master many years ago,” replied Dumbledore. He sat silently for a while, looking thoughtfully at Harry. “I would be very interested to hear more about your world, Mr Potter, but I could do so in greater comfort, if you would be so good as to untie me.” 

Harry was almost certain now that this was indeed Albus Dumbledore. No one else, apart from his mother and Jason, knew about her visions. But he wanted to be certain.

“Please feel free to ask me any questions you believe the authentic Albus Dumbledore, alone, could answer,” he said with a smile, sensing Harry’s hesitation.

Harry thought for a moment. “Do you remember going to an orphanage to meet Tom Riddle when he was eleven and giving him his Hogwarts letter?”

“Indeed I do,” replied Dumbledore, nodding as he reflected on the memory.

“He had some stuff he’d stolen from other kids at the orphanage hidden in a box in his cupboard. Can you remember any of them?” asked Harry. 

“Why yes, I believe I can. Let me see now. There was a yo-yo, I think; yes, and also a silver thimble and an old mouth organ, too, if I recall correctly.”

Harry smiled at Dumbledore and waved his hand, making the ropes that bound him disappear. This had to be Dumbledore; there was no doubt about it. Dumbledore picked up his wand and waved it. A silver tray appeared on his desk with a steaming pot of tea, creamer, cups, and a large plate of hot scones with jam and clotted cream. “A little refreshment, perhaps, Mr Potter?”

“Err … please call me Harry, Professor Dumbledore. That’s what you used to call me in my reality. This office looks exactly like your office at Hogwarts, sir.”

“Actually, it is my office,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “To start with, it was just an enchanted replica, which I painstakingly created in this cave to look like my office … familiar surroundings are so comforting at my age. As I did not have a great deal to do, I spent my time developing a spell that exchanges two objects. One night, many years ago, I exchanged the enchanted replica of my old office in this cave with the real one at Hogwarts. You see, the replicas of my wonderful collection of magical instruments did not work, and all the books were just empty shells, and of course, the pictures of the former Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses on walls did not move. I dare say Headmistress Umbridge got quite a shock the following morning when she discovered her office had been transformed into a replica of the real thing. But then again, she, herself, is merely a replica of what a Hogwarts Headmistress ought to be, so it was quite fitting, I think,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling in that familiar, mischievous way.

“This cave is physically sealed. The only way to enter and leave is by Apparation, and the wards ensure that no one can Apparate in expect for myself … and you, it would seem,” he said giving Harry an appraising look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 

“I remember your mother’s vision of the _Future of Hope_ , in which her son would be a very powerful wizard who would do battle with Lord Voldemort, aided, if I recall correctly, by her dear friend, Jason Trolove. But although Lily eventually chose to part with Jason in her seventh year and she married James Potter and bore a son, our world descended instead into something very much like her _Future of Darkness_. In the end, I concluded sadly that her visions did not mean what she thought they meant — or at least, her choice was not instrumental in determining which of them came to pass. However, more recently, I began entertaining a rather more hopeful explanation. After I regained my extensive personal library,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to a wall completely covered in ancient tomes, “I began investigating a fascinating phenomenon known as _multiple realities_. I presume you are acquainted with the phenomenon?”

“Yes. You see, in my reality — the real world — things happened exactly as my mother foresaw in the _Future of Hope_ vision. Her choice made the _Future of Darkness_ a dream reality, like this one.”

“Yes, that is where my investigations were leading me. That and the fuzzy, inauthentic timbre of this world, which is perhaps what one might expect if it were only one of several possible realities, but not the one which ultimately came into existence. Presumably this reality diverged from yours, just as the _Future of Darkness_ did, but at a later time. It was Lily’s choice that relegated the _Future of Darkness_ into merely a dream reality; do you know the significant event that made this reality a dream reality?”

“Yes. I suppose you know Severus Snape became a Death Eater soon after school?”

Dumbledore nodded. No doubt, he also knew the part Harry’s father had played, but Harry did not want to go there.

“He was told to recruit Miranda Malfoy, and when she refused, he was ordered to kill her. He tried to persuade her to go into hiding to save herself; but in my reality, she stubbornly refused, and ultimately Snape carried out his orders. However, in this reality, she eventually changed her mind and agreed to go into hiding — that was the crucial choice. Snape learned the Fidelius Charm and became her Secret Keeper. Afterwards he went into hiding himself to keep her safe.”

“I recall Severus Snape disappearing; there was some speculation in the Order that he might have somehow fallen foul of Voldemort and paid the price. But what I do not understand is how Miranda Malfoy’s choice could result in multiple realities. From my reading, this phenomenon only occurs at some pivotal point, when the outcome of a crucial event will determine two very different futures. Why was Miranda’s choice so significant?”

“Do you remember Trelawney’s prophecy — the one she gave you at the Hog’s Head?”

“Indeed I do. My subsequent research suggested that either you, or another boy, named Neville Longbottom, was the one to whom it referred — the one who would grow up to have the power to defeat Voldemort. I found it fascinating because if it was you, it corroborated your mother’s vision. However, that prophecy also failed to eventuate … in this reality, at least. But in yours?”

“Miranda Malfoy chose not to go into hiding, and Snape eventually followed his orders and killed her. So Snape did not go into hiding himself and was at the Hog’s Head the night Trelawney gave you the prophecy. He overheard the first part of it and repeated it to Voldemort, who decided it was me that the prophecy referred to. On October 31st, 1981, when I was just a year old, Voldemort came to Godric’s Hollow to kill me. First he killed my father and then he demanded that my mother hand me over to him. He said he would spare her, but she refused and was killed. In sacrificing her own life — and that of my unborn sister — she invoked a powerful protection that caused Voldemort’s Killing Curse to rebound on him when he tried to kill me. It destroyed his body and would have been fatal were it not for his Horcruxes. I’m sure you know about them.” 

Dumbledore shook his head. “I know what a Horcrux is, but I was not aware that Voldemort had ever attempted to create one. Perhaps you can enlighten me on that subject a little later,” he said, reflecting on what he had just heard. “So that is why Miranda Malfoy’s choice was so significant. Her choice to hide, in this reality, meant that Severus Snape, too, went into hiding and so did not overhear Sybil Trelawney. Voldemort never heard her prophecy; so he never attempted to kill you and did not lose his body. Hence, he survived to triumph and turn this reality into a nightmare world, very much like the one your mother foresaw.”

“Exactly.”

“What happened to Jason Trolove? I remember he disappeared immediately after the NEWT exams, which would have been some time before this reality diverged from yours.”

“I guess you know how upset he was about my mother leaving him?” Dumbledore nodded. “He left England. You probably know about my father being killed in this reality, but you probably don’t know that Jason returned to be with my mother and to help her raise me and my sister Rosa.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Miranda Malfoy hid with my parents at Godric’s Hollow so that we would all be protected by Snape’s Fidelius Charm. But being Muggle-born, both my mother and Jason were killed in the _Great Purification_ that followed the war. Rosa and I were raised by Miranda Malfoy.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore, sighing sadly. “I know very little of events in this reality since the war. I have remained a recluse in my cave — well, my office, I should say — since Hogwarts fell, apart from taking my daily exercise as a peregrine falcon. However, it does not require a great deal of imagination to know what a world ruled by Voldemort must be like. I have waited, hoping against all odds, that a time would come when I could put up some meaningful resistance.”

“I can’t see how it is possible in this reality,” said Harry, shrugging. “Voldemort and his evil regime are in total control.”

“Sadly, that is so; but perhaps your visit will afford me the opportunity of making a difference in your reality — the true reality. I have been waiting a long time,” said Dumbledore, staring at the wall, his eyes unfocussed, deep in thought, before speaking again. “And what became of Jason Trolove in _your_ reality?”

“He roamed the world for twenty years, searching for the source of magic.”

“Ah, yes, I recall his fascination with that particular topic. He talked with me about it on a number of occasions. He was a remarkable student, greatly gifted, both intellectually and magically. I can think of only one other Hogwarts student who was his equal … Tom Riddle. Tom’s thirst was for power; Jason’s was for knowledge. Did he find what he was searching for?”

“Yes, in a way. He says it’s impossible to completely understand or define the _Source_ , but it is possible to learn to connect with it deeply. Eventually, he learned how to do it, and became immensely powerful, magically.”

“And, it would seem from your recent display, he has taught you, just as your mother foretold. I have absolutely no idea how you managed to get past my elaborate wards and Apparate into this cave. It is quite extraordinary.”

“In his travels, Jason visited many obscure tribes and cultures, learning spells and magic that are unknown in the wizarding world. He has been teaching me some of it.”

“Including how to visit dream realities?” asked Dumbledore.

“Yes, but he didn’t learn that spell in his travels, he learned it from Voldemort — well from his mind at least — like he learned about the two dream realities where Voldemort had concealed his Horcruxes.”

“Perhaps this would be a good time for you to tell me about Voldemort’s Horcruxes,” said Dumbledore, sitting back in his chair. Harry told him how he — or at least the Dumbledore in his reality — discovered Voldemort’s scheme to become immortal by creating Horcruxes and how he had started to track them down and destroy them. He told him how one of the Horcruxes carried a curse, which had mortally injured him and how he had sacrificed himself to get Snape into Voldemort’s confidence so he could learn where the rest of the Horcruxes were hidden. He told Dumbledore about the five that had been destroyed so far, including the Horcrux Voldemort had concealed in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand in the _Future of Darkness_.

“And, if I am not mistaken, Voldemort visited this reality, too, and concealed one of his Horcruxes here; and you are here to find it and destroy it. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So physically, you are the Harry Potter from this dream reality, but the Harry Potter from your own reality is somehow joined together with you. He — or perhaps I should say, you — are in fact dreaming this. You must find it very strange.”

“Yes,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It sure took some getting used to; it was very confusing at first — like having two separate lives happening together. But the confusion actually turned out to be a good thing. You see, yesterday when I arrived in this reality, I was so overwhelmed by the confusion that I instinctively used a meditation technique I learned from Jason to connect to the _Source_. Only this time, it was far more intense. I connected completely and the connection remains. My magical power has increased amazingly.”

“Fascinating,” said Dumbledore, falling silent for some time before asking, “So where did Voldemort conceal his Horcrux in this reality?”

“I’ve no idea. You see, just before returning to my reality, Voldemort Obliviated all the memories of what he had done here. No one knows what object he concealed the Horcrux in or where he hid it — including himself — both in my reality and in this one.”

“How fiendishly cunning,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head in grudging admiration.

“I was hoping you might know where the final Horcrux is….”

“Alas, I do not,” said Dumbledore.

“So I’ve come here for nothing. Voldemort is very close to taking over in my reality. Even if he’s killed, he’ll be able to come back; and it won’t take him fourteen years next time, now he knows how to do it. And he’ll keep on coming back until he wins and turns our world into one like this,” said Harry dejectedly.

“Not if I can help it,” said Dumbledore calmly.

“But, what can you do — what can _anyone_ do? Since he Obliviated himself here, the Voldemort in this reality won’t know anything about it either. Even if we could get close enough to him to use Legilimency, it wouldn’t help.”

“The situation does look somewhat bleak,” conceded Dumbledore. “However, I am a great believer in the power of the mind. You say one Horcrux was concealed in Tom Riddle’s diary. Two were in relics of Salazar Slytherin: the ring and the locket. One was concealed in Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and another in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand. I think we can see a pattern emerging here. I suspect the final Horcrux is concealed in a relic of the fourth founder: Godric Gryffindor.”

“What? Even though Voldemort hated him and abolished Gryffindor house when he came to power in both this reality and the other dream reality?” asked Harry.

“Even though…,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “Voldemort has an obsessive mind, and he is also exceedingly superstitious. He would want his immortality protected by all four Hogwarts founders, even if he was philosophically opposed to what they stood for.”

“I remember now, how you said something like that to me once, Professor Dumbledore — in my reality, I mean. You said ‘having secured objects from Hufflepuff and Slytherin, he would set out to track down objects owned by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.’ You said ‘Four objects from the four founders would exert a powerful pull over his imagination.’ You didn’t know at the time if he had managed to find anything of Ravenclaw’s — I don’t think you knew about the wand — but you said something about the only known relic of Gryffindor being safe.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore, looking towards to the Founders cabinet, “Godric Gryffindor’s sword.”

Harry leapt from his chair and ran to the cabinet. “It’s here! You’ve got it!” he cried excitedly.

“Alas, not,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head sombrely. 

“I’d know it anywhere. I used it in the Chamber of Secrets to kill Slytherin’s basilisk,” said Harry, opening the cabinet, and grasping a gleaming silver sword with enormous rubies set into its handle. “This is it!” insisted Harry, waving the sword in front of Dumbledore.

“Sadly, it is merely a replica,” said Dumbledore.

“What? Why?”

“I told you how I used an enchantment to create a replica of my office in this cave and then developed the spell to exchange the enchanted replica with the real one at Hogwarts. By that time, some items had been removed from my office, and hence I was left with the replicas I had created. Voldemort almost certainly removed Gryffindor’s sword from my office when Hogwarts fell. What you are holding is merely my replica.”

“Are you certain?” asked Harry. 

Dumbledore nodded. “I think we can safely assume that he added the original to his vast collection of valuable magical objects that he has amassed at his secret palace.”

“Do you know where the palace is?”

“I have no idea. No doubt it is unplottable and protected by unimaginable enchantments — and evil creatures. But the sword will no longer be there. After concealing his Horcrux within Gryffindor’s sword, Voldemort would have hidden it somewhere obscure and far away from his secret palace.”

“So no one knows where it is,” said Harry despondently. 

They both remained silent for a long time. Finally Dumbledore spoke. “Perhaps you could tell me how the other Horcrux was found, the one Voldemort concealed in Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand in the _Future of Darkness_.”

Harry told Dumbledore everything he could recall from Hermione’s account of how she met Miranda Malfoy, who took her to meet Tanika Goldstein, a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw. He told her of Tanika’s dreams and how she was able to lead Hermione to Stonehenge, where the wand was hidden.

“Wonderful!” said Dumbledore smiling. “Perhaps the same method will work for us!”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry. “Is there a descendant of Godric Gryffindor in this reality?”

“Indeed, there is,” replied Dumbledore. “As you may imagine, I have had a great deal of time on my hands since Hogwarts fell — _holed up_ in this cave, so to speak — to pursue some of my many and varied interests. One of them is genealogy. I have been researching the lineages of some of the great witches and wizards of yore — including the Hogwarts founders — and I am quite certain that Godric Gryffindor’s line is unbroken to this very day.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“You,” said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“As certain as it is possible to be in such matters.”

“But … even if it’s true, even if I am Godric Gryffindor’s descendant, his sword wasn’t handed down from generation to generation like Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand. Tanika Goldstein was the wand-bearer, she had a special magical link to the wand, which enabled her to find it. But I won’t have that kind of link with Gryffindor’s sword.”

“Probably not,” mused Dumbledore. “Nevertheless, there may be some kind of magical bond.”

“Actually, I think you might be right,” said Harry. “In my second year, when I was down in the Chamber of Secrets, Gryffindor’s sword magically appeared just when I really needed it.”

“That would certainly suggest some kind of connection,” confirmed Dumbledore. “While it may be much weaker than the bond between the wand-bearer and Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand, the tremendous magical power you derive from your connection to the _Source_ may enable you to sense Gryffindor’s sword in much the same way.”

“How can we find out? How do I go about trying to find it?”

“I suggest you sit in that chair, Harry, and take some time to examine the replica minutely. You need to be able to visualise it precisely in your mind.” Harry spent several minutes in deep concentration studying every part of the sword before looking up questioningly at Dumbledore.

“I believe Jason Trolove has taught you the art of meditation. Close your eyes now, empty your mind, and then visualise the sword. Be open to any external intimations that may come to you.”

After several minutes, Harry spoke, his eyes still closed. “It feels like something is sort of calling me, or pulling at me, Professor. I think it might be the sword.”

“Can you sense where it is?” asked Dumbledore softly.

“Maybe,” said Harry uncertainly. “Not the actual location, but I can feel the direction,” he said, turning his head gently from side-to-side before raising his right arm and pointing towards the right edge of Dumbledore’s desk.

“You may open your eyes now,” said Dumbledore, thoughtfully. Harry looked at him expectantly. “Pretty much due south from here,” said Dumbledore, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“You don’t suppose it’s at Stonehenge, do you? That’s where the Voldemort in the other dream reality hid Ravenclaw’s wand.”

“Stonehenge _is_ south from here — but then again, so is the rest of England. However, I think we should investigate the possibility. Stonehenge is one of the most ancient magical sites in Britain; and clearly, it exercises a fascination over Voldemort’s mind.”

“That’s right,” recalled Harry. “In my reality Voldemort just recently took over Stonehenge to turn it into a temple where his followers are supposed to worship him.”

“How interesting,” said Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps it might be safer to Apparate to somewhere deserted, close to the henge. If memory serves me correct, there is a small rise a few miles to the west; let us begin there. Please take my arm.”

“Err, if you don’t mind, Professor, I’d prefer to use the dematerialising/re-materialising method Jason taught me. I find Side-Along-Apparation rather unpleasant.”

“Of course,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “And it will also be safer. I doubt if it can be monitored, like Apparation. But do you know where to go?”

“Err … yes, sir, I saw the spot in your mind,” said Harry, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Very good then,” said Dumbledore with a grin. “Shall we away?” 


	17. The Ghost of Godric Gryffindor

_**Chapter 17 ~ The Ghost of Godric Gryffindor** _

Harry found himself standing next to Dumbledore on a small rise in a deserted part of the Salisbury Plain. He could hear the faint buzz of traffic. It was a clear, sunny winter’s day. Dumbledore pointed to the east. Harry could see a motorway cutting across the broad plain; beyond it lay the unmistakable shape of Stonehenge. The enormous stones jutting out from the earth were clearly visible, even at that distance. Harry closed his eyes, visualising the sword of Godric Gryffindor. First he moved his head from side-to-side; then he slowly began turning around until he was facing almost in the opposite direction. “It’s not at Stonehenge,” he said, “but it feels much closer than before.”

“Hmm … west-north-west, from here,” said Dumbledore, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “What could possibly be in that direction, I wonder.” He stared off into the distance, lost in thought for some time, before smiling at Harry and exclaiming, “Yes, of course! I should have guessed — it’s obvious.”

“Where do you think the sword is?” asked Harry eagerly.

“Wales.” 

“Wales? Why Wales? Is there somewhere in Wales that would appeal to Voldemort as a hiding place for the sword?”

“Yes, indeed: Godric’s Hollow.”

“Godric’s Hollow? But why would Voldemort want to hide it there?”

“Your parents’ home was a renovated cottage on the outskirts of an historic Muggle village, which takes its name from a member of the ancient family who once owned the wild moors thereabouts. The name of that ancient family was Gryffindor, and the individual from whom the village took its name was, of course, _Godric_ Gryffindor. The cottage where your parents lived has been in your father’s family for centuries. It is probably built upon the ruins of the old family seat. There is historical evidence to suggest that Godric Gryffindor’s remains were entombed in a family crypt nearby, although the crypt has never been found.”

“Wow,” said Harry in awe. “But I still don’t see why Voldemort would choose Godric’s Hollow as a hiding place.”

“Voldemort, of course, is a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. He would be attracted, I believe, to the idea of concealing his Horcrux in Gryffindor’s own sword and then hiding it in Gryffindor’s burial place. I would be very much surprised if he did not place the sword — and, more importantly, his own Horcrux — directly above Godric Gryffindor’s tomb. To Voldemort, it would represent the final one-upmanship, the ultimate triumph of himself and his revered ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, over his ancient nemesis, the blood-traitor Gryffindor.”

“You know, it’s funny, Professor, but I have always felt attracted to Godric’s Hollow in my reality — even though I’ve never been there, at least not since I was a baby. I was planning to go there last summer. But the sword wouldn’t have been there in my reality.”

“No, but perhaps the Gryffindor blood in your veins was calling you home. In any case, Harry, I think it is time for you to return. Please feel free to consult my mind for the precise location,” he said with a smile.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When Harry arrived at Godric’s Hollow, he found himself standing outside what remained of his parents’ cottage, in what must have been their garden; it was now an unruly mass of weeds. The cottage, itself, lay in ruins. The roof was gone, and nothing remained of the doors or windows. Creepers and vines grew thickly over what was left of the walls. It looked as if it had lain untouched since the day the Death Eaters came.

Dumbledore sighed at the derelict remains. He remembered it in better days.

Harry turned his back on the remains of his parents’ home and began walking towards a small copse of oak trees behind the overgrown garden. “I can feel the sword, without even having to close my eyes and visualise it. It’s in there amongst those trees.”

Dumbledore followed Harry into the trees and found him in a small clearing, his eyes fixed intently on three graves. The headstone in the centre bore the name Lily Potter. The grave of James Potter was on her right and that of Jason Trolove on her left. Harry stared at his mother’s grave, with tears running down his cheeks. There she lay between the two wizards who had loved her. But had she loved them both? Harry knew she had loved Jason, but had she also loved his father, James? He would never know. 

Harry turned back towards Dumbledore, who had stopped several yards back to leave him alone at his parents’ graves. “The crypt must be just to the side of these graves,” said Harry, taking several paces before stopping. “I can feel the sword directly below where I am standing, about ten feet beneath the ground.”

Dumbledore moved his wand in a gentle sweeping motion just above the ground. At a certain point it would stop, as if it was striking some invisible barrier. “The entrance to the crypt is here,” he said, pointing at the ground in front of him. “There is a large stone slab covering it. There is probably a stairway beneath it that leads down into the crypt.”

“We don’t need to bother with opening the entrance; we can just Apparate in,” said Harry.

“Neither Apparation, nor attempting to gain entrance by removing the stone slab, will be of any use,” replied Dumbledore. “The crypt is heavily warded. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to break through the wards.”

“Were the wards created to protect the tombs?” asked Harry.

“No,” replied Dumbledore, shaking his head. “They are Voldemort’s wards — and very powerful ones at that. Their purpose is to protect the sword. But they will certainly not stop you from materialising into the crypt — not if you could get past my wards. I shall wait for you here, Harry. I suggest we take the sword back to my _office_ and deal with the Horcrux there.” 

Harry nodded and dematerialised. Upon re-materialising inside the crypt, he cast a Lumos spell to illuminate the dark, dank interior. The roof was only inches above his head. A steep stone stairway was cut into one wall, running from the floor to the ceiling. The other three walls were covered with rows of vertical stone slabs protruding half a foot or so out from the earthen sides of the crypt. There were letters carved into the stone slabs. Harry guessed that each one was a kind of headstone bearing the name of the person entombed behind it. Like the rest of the crypt, the stones were covered with moss and lichen, making it impossible to decipher the names — all except for one, which looked as if it had been cleaned at some point in the recent past. The name was clearly visible: _Godric Gwythyr Gryffindor_. Lying on top of the stone slab, just as Dumbledore had predicted, was Gryffindor’s sword. It did not shine and glitter like the replica; it was tarnished and dulled from the years it had lain in the damp musty crypt. Harry cast a Scourgify spell to restore it to its pristine state, before reverently picking it up, forgetting for the moment the evil concealed within.

Suddenly a deep chill swept through his body, and his happiness at finding the sword evaporated. Harry knew that feeling all too well. Dementors! He could not see any of the loathsome creatures in the crypt, so they must be outside. That would be close enough for their dreadful chilling effects to be felt. He cast a magical map of the copse, wondering if it would show Dementors. It didn’t. But what it did show was dozens of witches and wizards — almost certainly Death Eaters — arrayed in a wide semi-circle around Dumbledore. Harry was about to materialise to Dumbledore’s side when he realised that he — the Harry Potter in this reality — would be recognised. He couldn’t allow that, he had to disguise himself. The sword in his hand gave him an idea. He thought of the pictures and statues of Godric Gryffindor he had seen at Hogwarts — in his reality at least. In this one they had been removed and probably destroyed. He morphed himself to look like Gryffindor, including the thick black beard, and then transfigured his clothes to look like the ones Gryffindor was wearing in the picture of him in the Gryffindor common room.

When he materialised beside Dumbledore, Harry was greatly relived to find that, although heavily outnumbered, he was holding his own against the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters were so stunned at the appearance of the ancient apparition that they momentarily stopped flinging curses. Harry stood close to Dumbledore and cast a Boomerang Shield around them both, whispering, “Stay next to me, sir,” before turning his attention to the dozens of Dementors who were struggling to get past Dumbledore’s Phoenix Patronus. Brandishing his sword like a wand and thinking of his mother, whose grave lay just behind him, Harry unleashed a large flock of tiny angels, which made short work of the Dementors.

The Death Eaters began flinging curses at Harry and Dumbledore, but the Boomerang Shield sent them back on their attackers with devastating effect. Some were killed, some seriously hexed, and others stunned. Before any of the survivors could do themselves any further damage, Harry incinerated their wands with an Incendio spell. They stared at the flaming remains of their wands with horror. Without wands they could neither fight nor flee. They gazed fearfully upon the ancient wizard brandishing his sword threateningly. “I will spare ye pathetic lives, so ye can take this message to your evil Master: The Ghost of Godric Gryffindor has arisen to fight beside Albus Dumbledore … and to haunt your miserable Master all of his days.”

“Let us return to the spot overlooking Stonehenge,” whispered Dumbledore, before Apparating away. 

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

A very convincing performance,” said Dumbledore as Harry materialised beside him, still looking like Godric Gryffindor. “I suggest you maintain your disguise for a little longer — just in case. I am most grateful for your assistance, Harry. At my age, taking on several dozen Death Eaters while holding off all those Dementors is rather taxing; and I am somewhat out of practice. You must show me the spell you used to destroy the Dementors, and also the reflecting shield before you return to your own reality. I imagine you learned them from Jason Trolove?”

“Yes, I did. Why did you want to return to Stonehenge, Professor?”

“You saw how the Death Eaters found us at Godric’s Hollow? I expected they might. They have instruments to detect Apparation, which reveal both the name of the witch or wizard and also their destination — and they are not fooled by magical aliases. Because it takes a while to get a fix on an Apparating witch or wizard, they cannot detect the location from which they departed. They are also unable to detect very short journeys, such as when I Apparate in and out of my cave to take my daily constitutional. They could not have discovered the location of my cave when I Apparated from it earlier, but if I were to Apparate back to it now, they would. However, the dematerialising/re-materialising method Jason taught you is unknown here, so it cannot be traced. Perhaps you would be good enough to show me how it’s done?”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

“A most pleasant way to travel,” remarked Dumbledore, re-materialising in his _office_. “None of the physical unpleasantness one gets with Apparation; but more to the point, it is untraceable. Perhaps I will get out and about a bit more now,” he said, sinking into the large chair behind his desk. Harry morphed back to himself and laid Godric Gryffindor’s sword on the other side of the desk. Dumbledore watched him keenly.

Harry stared at the sword intently for a few moments before saying, “Animus Liberta.” The sword began to vibrate; it almost seemed to be trembling as it lay on the desk. The vibrations became stronger, as if the evil concealed within it was struggling to prevent itself from being expelled from the sword. But slowly, a wispy white vapour emanated from the centre of the blade, rising above it in a small misty cloud, one foot, two feet, three, before suddenly vanishing. Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief before dropping wearily into the chair in front of the desk. “Six down and one to go,” he said determinedly.

“Ah yes, of course, there is still the seventh part of Voldemort’s soul to free, the part that remains within his body,” said Dumbledore thoughtfully. “Despite your vast magical power, you will, I fear, find it very difficult to defeat him.”

“Why?”

“In your reality, after he came back in his new body, was he ever personally involved in a duel or in battle?”

Harry told him of the time he duelled with Voldemort in the graveyard at Little Hangleton at the end of fourth year and of the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic a year later.

“In both cases, he would have been unable to utilise his Invincibility Shield. I am convinced he discovered it before this reality diverged from yours, although he may not have completely mastered its use before he lost his body in your reality. However, I imagine he will have perfected it since returning, and he will almost certainly use it against you. In this reality he used it whenever he was engaged in battle.”

“What is this shield? How does it work?” asked Harry.

“He has his Death Eaters surround him in a wide circle,” replied Dumbledore. “Then he uses an incantation to take control of them. It is dark magic. They appear to go into a trance, pointing their wands into the air towards the centre of the circle, high above his head. Green beams of light are emitted from their wands, forming a translucent cone.”

“What does it do? Is the cone impenetrable?”

“No, it is possible to penetrate it in either direction, both physically and with spells. But as long as Voldemort remains within the circle of Death Eaters, he is completely protected from all spells and curses. He is also protected from physical attacks. The entranced Death Eaters, who are maintaining the shield, are similarly protected.”

“How many Death Eaters does he need to create the Invincibility Shield?”

“I do not know for certain. I have seen it done with as few as twenty or thirty. From what you said about his duel with me in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic, there were not enough Death Eaters present to create one.”

“What about when he duelled with me in the graveyard?” 

“He may not yet have perfected the Invincibility Shield or trained his Death Eaters in its use. In any case, I doubt he considered it necessary for taking on a schoolboy. He would have been quite unprepared for the resistance you put up and for the effect caused by the brother wands. He will not make the same mistake again. Next time, he will be ready with his shield — and a different wand, too, I suspect.”

“So what can I do? How can I defeat him?” 

“That I do not know. I have spent a good deal of time investigating ways of nullifying Voldemort’s Invincibility Shield, but I have been unsuccessful. Perhaps Jason Trolove has come across something similar to Voldemort’s shield in his travels. He may be able to find a way to breach it. I am sorry that I am unable to help you further.”

“But you’ve been a huge help, Professor Dumbledore. I would never have found the sword and been able to destroy the Horcrux without you. And now that I know about Voldemort’s Invincibility Shield, at least we have a chance to find a way to overcome it. You have made all the difference in the world — my world.”

Dumbledore smiled, rising to his feet. “If my assistance helps you finally destroy Voldemort, in the real world, then it will give some meaning to all these years I have remained here, alone in my cave. And now, my young friend, it is time for one of you to collect his broom and return to school … and for the other to return to the real world to finally fulfil your mother’s vision.”

As he rose to his feet, Harry felt a lump in his throat and a knot in his stomach. He took Dumbledore’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Goodbye, sir. I know it sounds kind of strange, but it’s been really good to see you again. I’ve missed you. Thank you for everything. I’m sure your help will make all the difference — I will not fail!”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

When he awoke, Harry had to shake his head to clear out the memories of his other life in the dream reality. He had cast the spell to return, clutching his Cleansweep Eleven on the Quidditch pitch, and was now back in Jason’s office, sitting in one of the comfy bean bags, where he had been dreaming. Looking around, he saw the others talking softly on the other side of the room. “I’m back,” he said, slowly getting to his feet and stretching. “How long was I out?”

“A bit less than an hour,” said Ginny, walking towards him.

“Wait, Ginny,” said Jason, before she could grab Harry and hug him, which was obviously her intention. He stood in front of Harry and stared silently into his eyes for a few moments. “You’ve done it, Harry,” he said smiling broadly. “I can tell from your eyes. You’ve connected with the _Source_ — completely connected. How did it happen?”

“Maybe we should all sit down, and I’ll tell you everything that happened in the dream reality.” So the five of them dragged their bean bags into a small circle and Harry told his story.

When he finished, Jason smiled. “The confusion that triggered the deep meditation, and ultimately forged the permanent connection with the _Source_ , sounds familiar. There is a phenomenon where a profound psychological or spiritual crisis — sometimes known as _the long dark night of the soul_ — can lead to a profound religious experience.”

“Which is, in fact, connecting to the _Source_ ,” suggested Hermione.

“Yes,” said Jason. “Usually, it is significantly limited by preconceived religious beliefs and expectations. But in Harry’s case, there were no such limitations. You have done wonderfully well, Harry. I sometimes doubted my ability to fulfil my part in your mother’s vision. But I should never have doubted her because she has been right at every turn. You are ready to take on Voldemort, Harry, and to defeat him.”

“But, what about Voldemort’s Invincibility Shield?” asked Hermione. “The Horcruxes are all destroyed, and Harry has the power to defeat Voldemort. But according to Dumbledore, he won’t be able to touch him.”

“Unless we can somehow draw him into a trap where he’s alone, without his Death Eaters, or at least enough of them to create a shield,” suggested Ron hopefully.

“I doubt it would be possible,” replied Jason. “Voldemort is far too paranoid. Even though he does not know about the destruction of his Horcruxes, he will not leave the protection of his Death Eaters.”

“He did when he came to the Ministry of Magic two years ago,” said Ginny.

“Yes, but that was a crisis, an exceptional situation,” replied Hermione.

“Then we have to come up another crisis situation, that will force him to come out alone,” said Ron.

“I don’t think we’d be able to,” said Hermione, shaking her head doubtfully. “We don’t have time, Voldemort has to be stopped — and soon.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

On Tuesday morning at breakfast, Harry and his friends were discussing their plans for the Christmas holidays, which were to begin in a couple of days’ time. Mrs Weasley had invited Harry to the Burrow, and he and Ginny were looking forward to spending the holiday together. Hermione, who had also received an invitation, would be spending Christmas with her parents. “I’m glad in a way,” Ginny whispered to Harry. “Without Quidditch to distract him, Ron’s attentions are bound to drift back to Hermione, and I really don’t want to have to go through all that again — not at Christmas. Maybe next Christmas — do you think the immature prat might grow up a bit by then?” “Hey! Are you two talking about me?” demanded Ron, catching the words _immature prat_.

“Don’t be silly,” replied Ginny sweetly. “And stop being so big-headed, Ron. Why would we be talking about _you_? You’re not the only immature prat in the world, you know.”

Before Ron could think of a suitably snide rejoinder, the conversation was interrupted by Hermione almost choking on her pumpkin juice as she opened her morning copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “Oh no!” she gasped between coughs. Harry grabbed the paper from her and read the headlines, in disbelief:

_Immortal One to be Pronounced Presiding Deity of Wizarding World_

“What does it say?” demanded Ron, who had managed to read the headline. 

Harry read in a funereal tone. “The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, will today pronounce The Immortal One as the Messiah and Saviour of the Wizarding World. The investiture will take place on this auspicious day of the Winter Solstice at The Immortal One’s recently consecrated temple at Stonehenge.

“From this day forth, it is a binding obligation upon all wizards and witches to venerate and worship him, by one or other of his sacred names: _Dark Emperor_ , _Immortal One, Sovereign Saviour,_ or _Dark Messiah_. He may also be referred to as _His Holiness_. It is henceforth an offence, punishable by death, to use any other name, including ‘You-Know-… and He-Who-…’. Deputy Minister of Magic Percy Weasley will be personally responsible for the revision of all books, publications, and periodicals to ensure that correct nomenclature is strictly adhered to. 

“The Minister of Magic expressed his great delight at the _Immortal One’s_ immanent investiture, and said he is looking forward to working together with him in a partnership that will benefit the whole magical community. In the new nexus, all executive powers are to reside with The Dark Emperor and his personal advisors, while administrative functions will remain the precinct of the Ministry of Magic —”

“What the hell does that mean?” demanded Ron.

“That Voldemort makes all the decisions, and the Ministry of Magic merely do the donkey work and carry them out,” spat Hermione, grabbing her paper back from Harry. “And not even _all_ the donkey work,” she added. “Listen to this: Cornelius Fudge says he deems it entirely appropriate that all matters of internal security be taken over by The Dark Emperor’s chief of security, Mr Lucius Malfoy. The Auror division has been disbanded with immediate effect, and all magical monitoring devices, magic detectors, Apparation tracking systems and the like, have been entrusted to the new security and surveillance organisation.”

“Crikey, Fudge has caved in completely,” said Ron, shaking his head.

“And it get worse,” said Hermione, continuing to read. “Speaking on behalf of The Dark Emperor, his chief spokesman, Mr Lucius Malfoy, said that His Holiness’ first priority would be the purification of Wizarding society. This will include the elimination of those impostors claiming to be wizards and witches who are not descended from magical families. Squibs and blood-traitors married to Muggles (and their spouses) will also be eradicated. An appropriate set of breeding regulations will soon be published, and enforced, to raise the purity level of Wizarding blood. The second priority, said Mr Malfoy, was to correct the gross inadequacies and inappropriate practices at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A new faculty, under Headmistress Dolores Umbridge, will be replacing the current incompetent incumbents, he said.”

Hermione dropped the paper in disgust and shook her head sadly. “I wonder what happened to make Fudge suddenly throw in the towel like that?”

“Maybe there’s been —” began Ron, but he stopped as four Origami birds landed in front of them. They all bore the same three words: ‘Headmistress’ office, NOW!’ No one paid much attention as the four of them dashed from Great Hall. Most of the students had by now heard about the astounding announcements in the _Daily Prophet_ , and there was a great din as they puzzled over their meaning and discussed the implications.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress’ office jumped aside, and the stone wall split in two the moment they arrived. When they reached the top of the revolving stone stairway, they found the door to the office open. Rushing inside, they found Professor McGonagall, Lupin, Tonks, and Jason deep in urgent conversation. The Headmistress waved her wand at the door and it slammed shut behind them.

“We’ve just read the _Daily Prophet_ ,” blurted out Hermione, as she tried to catch her breath. “What’s happened? Why has Fudge given in?”

“There has been the most dreadful calamity,” said the Headmistress, white-faced, shaking her head. “Professor Trolove, please tell them.”

“Yesterday afternoon, the pilots of six jumbo jets that had recently taken off from Heathrow airport radioed the control tower to say they had lost all control of their aircraft. The planes, seemingly under the control of some mysterious force, turned and flew back to Heathrow, where they slammed simultaneously into the packed airport terminal buildings, creating an inferno.”

The students gasped in horror.

“It will be days before there is any clear idea of the casualties; but it is certain that many thousands were killed. Lucius Malfoy immediately informed Fudge that increasingly devastating attacks would follow until he capitulated unconditionally to Voldemort’s demands … which Fudge did at once.”

“So that’s it,” said Ron.

“Not quite,” replied Jason. “Voldemort has added a further demand … but not of Fudge.”

They looked at him expectantly.

“He wants you, Harry, at Stonehenge — today — now!”

Ginny gasped.

“Today is the Winter Solstice. There is to be some kind of ceremony at Stonehenge to pronounce Voldemort Grand Wazzoo of the Wizarding World — or whatever ridiculous title he goes by these days. But first, he wishes to dispose of you, Harry, because no one is going to be entirely convinced of his immortality, including Voldemort himself, while you’re still alive,” said Jason, grinning.

“What if Harry doesn’t go?” asked Ginny, fearfully.

“He’ll keep up the carnage, killing Muggles by the thousands and tens of thousands. He is threatening to launch the next attack immediately if Harry is not at Stonehenge on the dot of nine.”

“But that’s in three minutes,” said Hermione, looking at her watch in alarm. “We haven’t found a way of dealing with Voldemort’s Invincibility Shield yet. Harry won’t be able to get at him.”

“I have been thinking about ways of dealing with it,” said Jason, “but I’m not quite there yet. Harry, you have to get to Stonehenge now. Fudge has sent a personal Portkey, which will only work for you,” he said, pointing to an empty Coke can on the Headmistress’ desk. “It is set to activate at nine. But I suggest you go there under your own steam, instead; you know where Stonehenge is. I suspect the Portkey is designed to deliver you stunned.” 

Harry nodded. 

“Put up your Boomerang Shield immediately — no one will be able to touch you. Try to stall Voldemort for as long as you can. We need more time to work on the spell to nullify his Invincibility Shield.”

“How long?” asked Harry anxiously.

“I don’t know for sure, but you have to keep Voldemort there. Once he realises he can’t kill you, he may decide to Apparate away. Try to keep his interest: taunt him, tell him you know all about his Horcruxes … anything … just keep him there! Good luck, Harry. You better go!” 


	18. Stonehenge Solstice Showdown

_**Chapter 18 ~ Stonehenge Solstice Showdown** _

Harry materialised inside Voldemort’s Invincibility Shield. He found himself standing barely twenty feet from where Voldemort was sitting majestically on what looked like an ancient marble throne. 

“How the devil did you get here?” exclaimed Voldemort, looking startled. Clearly, the Portkey had been designed to deliver Harry somewhere well outside the circle, where he could be to be trussed up and then Enervated for presentation to the Immortal One.

Harry felt the adrenalin surging through his body as he looked in fascinated horror at the sinister, snakelike face. A violent chill ran through him, and he felt the bile rise as he turned away from the awful scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes glaring malevolently from that gaunt, white, skeletal face. Harry took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, as he fought to keep down his breakfast _._ He wondered why his scar was not hurting. In the past, the pain had been unbearable when he got anywhere near Voldemort. Could it be because of his connection to the _Source_? Or maybe it was because of the measures Voldemort had taken to sever the link between them to keep Harry out of his head. Whatever the reason, Harry was relieved to find his head was not bursting with pain.

Voldemort’s marble throne was at the exact centre of the famous stone circle. Fifty or sixty Death Eaters stood trancelike, just inside the hundred-foot-wide circle formed by the ancient monolithic stones. Their wand arms were raised at a forty-five-degree angle, pointing towards the centre of the circle as if in a salute. Faint beams of green light shot out from their wands, converging high above their Master and forming a translucent green cone.

Looking beyond the entranced Death Eaters and the stone circle, Harry could see hundreds more Death Eaters standing in their black robes and masks. It looked like Voldemort’s _recruitment drive_ had gone well. His followers — old and new — had been summoned to witness their Master’s triumphant coronation. In the gaps where the original monolithic stones were missing, stands had been conjured for the upper echelon of Death Eaters, top Ministry of Magic officials, and the wizarding aristocracy, so they could sit and witness this historic event in comfort. Harry noticed Cornelius Fudge, Percy Weasley, and Dolores Umbridge sitting like timid pet rabbits between Lucius Malfoy and another Death Eater.

“What is the meaning of this?” roared Voldemort, his voice magically amplified. “Malfoy! Who is responsible for this outrage?” he demanded, pointing a long, bony finger at Harry.

Lucius Malfoy jumped to his feet and rushed forward, towards his Master, bowing his head lower and lower as he neared him. “It was Fudge, Master. He assured me the Ministry Portkey would deliver the prisoner stunned and well outside the circle, where he could be properly prepared for presentation, my Lord,” he wheedled, bowing even lower.

“Bring Fudge before me!” hissed Voldemort ominously. Fudge immediately rose from his seat and scurried towards the throne. “How on earth did this incompetent fool become Minister of Magic, Malfoy?”

“He was the only applicant for the position, Master, after we disposed of Scrimgeour.”

“Ah, yes, now I recall. Scrimgeour gave us a good deal of trouble, but at least he had a backbone,” he said, looking distastefully at Fudge who was now quivering before him.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Fudge?” demanded Voldemort coldly.

Fudge, who was scared out of his wits and incapable of coherent speech, mumbled, “Portkey prepared under my personal supervision … certain it functioned correctly … Potter doesn’t have it … cannot have used it … must have Apparated —”

“Silence, Fudge, you fumbling fool! I personally created the wards protecting this temple myself. No one can Apparate past my wards — the only way in is by Portkey. Do you wish to contradict me, Fudge?” he asked dangerously.

Fudge cringed, shaking his head silently, his eyes fixed fearfully on the ground.

“If anyone is in any doubt as to who is in control of the wizarding world, regard —” crowed Voldemort, pointing his wand at the hapless Fudge. “Avada Kedavra,” he said casually. Fudge fell dead to the ground. “Dispose of the carcase,” muttered Voldemort disdainfully. Lucius Malfoy flicked his wand at Fudge, sending his body flying out of the circle to land behind the standing Death Eaters.

“Do we need to replace him?” asked Voldemort. “Do we need the Ministry of Magic, Malfoy? Does it serve any useful purpose?”

Malfoy bowed low before replying. “They are useful, Master, in performing menial administrative tasks. May I suggest Fudge’s deputy, Weasley, as a replacement? The grovelling quisling will do exactly as he is told.”

“Summon him,” said Voldemort. Percy, who had been listening attentively, was already on his feet and eagerly making his way towards Voldemort.

“Your first task, Weedly, will be to sort out the mess at the school. The staff were all appointed by that Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore. _Dispose_ of them — all of them — understood?” Percy nodded obediently, anxious to prove himself equal to his new job. “Do we have someone to put in charge at the school, Malfoy?”

“Yes, my Lord, a witch by the name of Dolores Umbridge, another of Fudge and Weasley’s ilk, who will do exactly as she is told. I will be directing her and taking personal responsibility for cleansing the school of Mudblood filth and setting it on an appropriate course.”

“Weedly, you have twenty-four hours to get rid of Dumbledore’s cronies. Do not fail me, or your tenure as Minister of Magic will be _terminated_ even faster than that of your two predecessors.” 

Percy had no idea how he was expected to get past McGonagall’s impenetrable wards, let alone dispose of all the staff. It was a mission impossible; but he was far too frightened to question his orders. He scuttled fearfully back to his seat. The great goal of his life had been unexpectedly realised, and far sooner than he had ever imagined possible. But now that he had it in his grasp it looked less like a golden goblet of ambrosia and more like a poisoned chalice.

Voldemort cast a malicious glance towards Harry before haughtily addressing his assembled followers. “Loyal subjects, before we begin today’s historic ceremony, there is a _minor matter_ of unfinished business to be _disposed_ of. This boy, who stands before me, has been called _my nemesis_ and _my downfall_ ,” said Voldemort, his red eyes glaring hatefully at Harry. “He is a legend of sorts; he has been called ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and ‘The Chosen One’. Some of you perhaps believe the rumours that he has the power to destroy _me_ — _The Dark Emperor, The Immortal One._ ” 

Loud cries of “No” and “Never” rang out from his audience.

Voldemort smiled smugly at the fervour of their denials. “ _Chosen One_ , indeed!” he spat contemptuously. “Today, _I have chosen_ to end the legend of Harry Potter. Today he will become the boy who _no longer_ lives. You all know the story of that fateful night sixteen years ago. I lost my body, attempting to kill him, when he was a mere baby. It was his mother’s sacrifice that unwittingly provided him with an unforeseen protection — and saved him — at great cost and pain to myself. 

“My enemies celebrated; they though I was finished — the deluded fools. Even some of my own followers doubted my claims to immortality. Perhaps there are some among you here today, who did not believe that I would keep my promise to return.”

Further fervent denials rose up from the assembled Death Eaters.

“But I was determined and it was only a matter of time before I returned — to keep my promise to those who remained faithful, and to prove my immortality beyond all doubt. Six years ago, I first attempted to return by gaining possession of the fabled Sorcerer’s Stone. But my ingenious scheme was sabotaged by _this boy_. Again, I was unable to kill him. His mother’s powerful protection saved him yet again.

“It was a setback, yes. But it was only a matter of time…. Two and a half years ago I finally fulfilled my promise to return. In so doing, I used the boy’s own blood, thus overcoming the mother’s protection that had twice thwarted me. Those of you who were fortunate enough to be at my rebirthing will recall how he managed to defy me yet again. This time he was saved by his wand. By an odd quirk of fate, it transpired to be the brother of my own wand, preventing it from working correctly.

“A year later, he was again saved from his fate when I lured him to the Ministry of Magic; this time he was saved by that champion of commoners, Mudbloods, and Muggles — Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry’s heart was thumping. He took deep breaths to steady himself as he tried to stay calm. He stood defiantly, with arms crossed, not twenty feet from where the ranting Voldemort sat imperiously upon his throne. Turning his reptilian head, he glared at Harry venomously. “You have been extraordinarily lucky, Potter: Saved twice by your mother, once by your wand, and once by that fool, Dumbledore. Unfortunately for you, your extraordinary run of luck is at an end. Your mother is dead, and I have overcome her protection with your own blood; she cannot save you now. Regard my new wand, painstakingly crafted to my precise requirements by my personal wand-maker, Ollivander,” he said, flourishing it proudly. “So, your wand can no longer save you — and neither can that doddering dunce, Dumbledore, who my loyal servant, Severus Snape, has disposed of. Some people believe you are powerful, Potter; some would even set you up as my nemesis, my rival! What a joke! You are nothing but a mediocre schoolboy who has been enormously lucky … until today. If I recall correctly, your mother, who I killed myself,” he said with a malevolent grin, “was nothing but a filthy Mudblood, making you merely a plebeian half-blood, Potter!”

Harry’s blood was boiling at Voldemort’s comments about his mother; he’d had enough. Using an amplification charm so that all could hear him, he said, “And as I recall, your father was a Muggle, making you a half-blood, too. Yet —”

“How dare you utter such arrant nonsense before me?” demanded Voldemort in a fury. Turning to Lucius Malfoy, who had remained standing beside his throne, he bellowed, “Restrain the lying brat, and _silence_ him — this instant!”

Harry was ready. He had his wand out before Voldemort had even finished his rant. “Expelliarmus,” he yelled, his anger exploding into a powerful disarming spell. Lucius Malfoy flew forty feet through the air and landed on his backside, just inside the stone circle. Luckily for him, he landed on some soft turf; but even so, he lay on the ground writhing in pain. His wife, Narcissa, and son, Draco, rushed from their nearby seats to help him to his feet; but something was badly broken and he remained lying on the ground in agony and humiliation while a mediwizard performed a quick patch up on him. Narcissa Malfoy helped him limp back to his seat in disgrace, but Draco approached his enraged Master.

“If it pleases you, my Lord, allow me the privilege of dealing with Potter,” he said with a bow, his eyes fixed hatefully on Harry, hungry for revenge.

Voldemort was furious that Potter had stolen the limelight on this, his big day. He was deeply mortified at the humiliating drubbing the boy had dished out to his chief of security, Malfoy. “I shall grant you the opportunity to redeem a little family honour; but do not fail me like your father … and do not kill Potter … that pleasure shall be mine; just incapacitate him, and _silence_ him!”

The moment Voldemort finished speaking, Draco cast a Cruciatus Curse but Harry disappeared before it reached him. “Oi, Malfoy, behind you,” said Harry, materialising behind his back and poking him hard with his wand. Before Draco could turn to curse him, Harry was gone, popping up on the other side of Voldemort’s throne; Draco could not get a clear shot at him without risking hitting his Master.

“So much for your wonderful wards,” sneered Harry, into Voldemort’s ear before disappearing again. Of course Harry wasn’t really Apparating and Disapparating through Voldemort’s wards, but it certainly looked that way. He had learned to dematerialise without immediately re-materialising; so sometimes he would disappear for several seconds, leaving Voldemort and Draco looking about in confusion. Other times he would materialise for less than a second, only long enough to yell: “Oi!” or “Here git!” before dematerialising again. He was like an angry gnat buzzing around Voldemort, driving him apoplectic. Draco, who was soon in a total tizzy, lowered his wand arm, and shook his head stupidly. Harry, tiring of the sport, materialised right in front of Draco. “Oi, Ferret!” he taunted, as he turned Draco into one, just like the impostor Mad Eye Moody had done in fourth year. The ferret dashed away as fast as it could go, but each time it was almost at the edge of the circle, Harry used a Summoning Charm to bring it flying back through the air to land right in Voldemort’s lap. Voldemort kept furiously flinging it away, and it would begin its desperate dash for freedom once more.

Voldemort was in a total rage. He had been comprehensively humiliated in front of all his followers by Potter’s juvenile antics; it was time to put a stop to them — and to him. “Avada Kedavra,” he screamed, pointing his wand at Harry. There was a flash of green light, but Harry remained standing, grinning at Voldemort. Nothing had happened, except for the ferret finally escaping its humiliating predicament. At least nothing appeared to have happened. In fact, Voldemort’s Killing Curse hit Harry’s Boomerang Shield, which sent it rebounding back on him where his Invincibility Shield deflected it harmlessly away. Voldemort was stunned. “Avada Kedavra,” he screamed again. But again nothing happened, except for a flash of green light. A gasp rose involuntarily from the crowd. No one had ever seen Voldemort’s curses fail.

“Looks like that new wand of yours doesn’t work too well,” taunted Harry. “Or maybe you’re getting old and senile. Lost your touch, Tom?”

“How dare you call me by that name?” demanded Voldemort in outrage.

“Because your name _is_ Tom — _Tom Riddle_ , just like your Muggle father before you. I can remember —”

“Lies! Fabrication! Nonsense!” screamed Voldemort, desperate to drown out Harry’s magically amplified voice. “What is the matter with you, Death Eaters? Are you all utterly incompetent?” he railed. “Kill the brat, and be quick about it!” he barked. 

Dozens of Death Eaters dashed into the circle, flinging Killing Curses at Harry from all sides. There were too many for Harry to deal with simultaneously; he would not be able to keep his Boomerang Shield a secret any longer, so he put away his wand and stood with his hands in his pockets while they cursed him. The sooner they found out about the shield, the sooner they would stop killing themselves. Harry did not want to be responsible for their deaths; although he noticed, with grim satisfaction, that Bellatrix Lestrange was the first to fling a Killing Curse at him and die so deservingly at her own hand.

“Stop! Fools! Stop cursing Potter!” screamed Voldemort after at least a dozen Death Eaters had cursed themselves to death. “Can you imbeciles not see that he has some kind of reflecting shield? Your Killing Curses are rebounding back on you, just as mine did when he was a baby. What kind of shield can this be?” he muttered angrily, as the Death Eaters quickly exited the circle, dragging their dead away with them. 

“So this is why my Killing Curses failed just now,” spat Voldemort. “In fact, they did not fail. They rebounded from your shield and were, of course, unable to penetrate mine,” he said, looking at Harry, with hatred, but no longer quite so dismissively. “So now I know about your shield — and you know about mine.”

“I already knew about your Invincibility Shield. Those Death Eaters standing entranced in that circle are doing more than just providing a pretty light show, Tom.”

“Do not call me by that name!” screamed Voldemort.

“Why do you bother to deny your Muggle father, Tom? You told me about him yourself, in the graveyard at Little Hangleton. Don’t you remember? You said I was standing on his grave; you called him ‘a Muggle and a fool’.”

“But I killed him for what he did to my mother!” snarled Voldemort. “My mother was descended from Salazar Slytherin, himself. I am the descendent of Salazar Slytherin — I am _his_ heir. Tom Riddle is nothing to me!”

“Oh, yes he is,” taunted Harry, realising he had struck a raw nerve. “Tom Riddle, the Muggle, was your father, and _your_ name is Tom Riddle just like his, and _you_ are a half-blood, the same as me!”

“I am not!” roared Voldemort furiously. “This is not the body I was born with! This is the body I created for myself! This body is not descended from Tom Riddle or any Muggle!”

“Then it cannot be descended from Salazar Slytherin either, so you can stop pretending to be his heir,” retorted Harry. Voldemort gasped; he had obviously not considered that. “And that repulsive body you created still contains part of your Muggle father!”

“Nonsense! Lies!” cried Voldemort.

“Oh, but it does,” insisted Harry. “You went to a lot of trouble to have me present when you created it; and I remember that awful night all too well, including what Pettigrew threw into the cauldron to concoct your vile body. I can still remember his words: ‘Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son’ — that was the bone from your Muggle father’s grave. ‘Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your Master’ — that was Pettigrew’s own hand. And finally, ‘Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe’ — that was my blood. So, even if Pettigrew is a pure-blood, that still makes you a half-blood, because your repulsive body was also created from your Muggle father, and a half-blood — me! I just don’t understand why a half-blood like you is championing the pure-blood cause —”

“Shut up!” shrieked Voldemort, becoming so furious and flustered that he forgot about Harry’s shield and screamed, “Avada Kedavra!” attempting to kill him again. When nothing happened but a flash of green light, he said, “You cannot be the Potter boy. You must be an impostor to be holding such a powerful reflecting shield for so long. But how to find out without having to wait until the Polyjuice Potion wears off? Snape, come here!” he demanded. Snape quickly entered the circle and bowed to Voldemort.

“Severus, is there a potion you can give him to counteract Polyjuice?”

“There is, my Lord; however, I fear that I would be unable to administer it while he is protected by the shield.”

“Yes, of course,” said Voldemort. “But you were his teacher; ask him a question that only Potter would be able to answer.”

“Yes, my Lord, it was indeed my unfortunate task, while feigning allegiance to the fool Dumbledore, to have to teach Potter for six long years. He was a most unpromising student with neither intelligence nor talent. He was just an arrogant, big-headed show-off like his father, with an over-inflated opinion of him —” Snape suddenly found himself hanging upside-down five feet above the ground, his robes falling over his head to reveal a pair of pale legs and his underpants.

“Well, _Snivellus_ , lucky for you your undies are clean today, because you have a much bigger audience than when my dad did this to you down by the Hogwarts lake after the OWL exams. There, is that proof enough that I am Harry Potter? I’m sure you have never shared that particular memory with anyone.”

“Put me down, Potter!” demanded Snape, helplessly, lifting his robes over his head and glaring furiously at Harry. Harry set Snape back on his feet. He felt a bit ashamed at the humiliation he had meted out to him, but Snape had infuriated him with his comments about his father. He knew whose side Snape was really on, and he knew Snape had to keep up a convincing act of hating him in front of Voldemort … but he also knew it wasn’t just an act because Snape had always treated him like that, even when it was just the two of them. And anyway, he had to maintain a convincing act of believing Snape had betrayed and murdered Dumbledore — for Snape’s sake, he rationalised to himself.

Snape was seething as he straightened his robes, but he brought his temper under control to address Voldemort. “It is undoubtedly Potter, my Lord, no one else could know what he revealed.”

“You may go, Severus,” said Voldemort. Snape left the circle, red-faced, feeling acutely embarrassed, loathing Potter from the depths of his soul and wondering which of the two wizards in the circle he hated the most.

Voldemort glared at Harry through those red, snakelike eyes, obviously weighing his options. Harry wondered impatiently how much longer Jason would be and how much longer Voldemort would stay. His day of glory was fast becoming a day of humiliation. As Harry feared, Voldemort announced his intention to depart.

“Loyal subjects, it would appear that we have arrived at something of an impasse here today. I have therefore decided to postpone today’s ceremony for a later date — after I have _disposed_ of this cheeky child. Rest assured, I will overcome his shield, and kill him. My investiture will —”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it an impasse, Tom —”

“Silence! Insolent brat!” snarled Voldemort. “Of course it’s an impasse, a stalemate — or do you not understand the meaning of these words, simpleton? I cannot penetrate your shield, and you cannot penetrate mine, so —”

“Reducto!” cried Harry, pointing his wand at Voldemort’s priceless marble throne, and blasting it to pieces beneath him, hurling Voldemort through the air, to land in a heap at his feet. “Is the great Dark Emperor going to run away from a little school boy?” sneered Harry down at Voldemort, knowing he would have to stay and try to save face in front of his followers.

Voldemort leapt to his feet, brushing down his robes in utter fury. “You may play your childish little games today, Potter, but know this: I have far more than a shield protecting me. I am _truly immortal_. Though my body may be destroyed, as it was on that night when I came to kill you at Godric’s Hollow, my spirit will never die. I am the _Immortal One!_ ” He held up both arms and turned in a circle, inviting the adulation of his supporters, who responded obediently. 

When their praise died down, he continued, “When I overcome your shield and kill you, as I killed your miserable parents, you will die — forever. But if this body of mine is destroyed, I shall simply create a new one; and the next time it will not take fourteen years. Now that I know the secret or re-embodiment it will not even take fourteen days. I, _The Dark Emperor_ , the heir of Salazar Slytherin, have achieved the state of deathlessness — that which many have sought before me, but none except I have attained! I am _The_ _Immortal One!_ ” He held up both arms again, basking in the tumultuous praise of his supporters.

Harry was certain that having reasserted his supremacy by boasting about his immortality to the enthusiastic praise of his grovelling supporters, Voldemort would leave before Harry had another chance to insult him. He had to stop him! “I suppose you’re referring to your Horcruxes,” said Harry casually, but with immediate effect. 

Voldemort dropped his arms and turned disbelievingly on Harry. No one, not even his most loyal Death Eaters knew anything about the Horcruxes; it was his most precious and closely guarded secret. How could the Potter boy know? Surely his ears must be deceiving him. “What did you just say, boy?” he hissed venomously.

“Horcruxes … surely you know what a Horcrux is?” said Harry matter-of-factly.

“Of course, I know!” snapped Voldemort.

“Well, that’s what I’m talking about: Horcruxes … _your_ Horcruxes … the ones _you think_ will make you immortal.”

Voldemort did not know how to respond. He was not going to confirm that he had created Horcruxes — Potter was probably bluffing. Possibly he knew there had been a Horcrux in the diary that Malfoy had stupidly allowed to fall into the hands of his enemies. But what did he mean by Horcrux _es_ — _plural_? Did he know of any others? And why did he say _you think_ will make you immortal? Could any others besides the Horcrux in the diary have been destroyed? Surely not! He would remain silent. Let Potter reveal what he knew — if indeed he knew anything.

“Let me see, now,” said Harry, knowing he had Voldemort hooked and that he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. He had to spin it out for as long as possible … until Jason arrived. “Of course, you already know about the loss of the first one that was concealed in your school diary. You can blame your loyal servant, Lucius Malfoy, for that one. He hid the diary in Ginny Weasley’s school books. You’ve met her, by the way; she paid a visit to your castle a few weeks back, and made a bit of a mess of it, I hear,” said Harry with a cheeky grin. 

Voldemort fumed silently, so Harry continued. “Anyway, I destroyed the Horcrux that was in the diary, down in the Chamber of Secrets, along with Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk. So that’s your first Horcrux gone.” Voldemort kept his silence, waiting to hear if Potter knew about any of the others.

“Horcrux number two was in Marvolo’s ring — the black-stoned ring, remember?” Voldemort gasped. “The ring was Slytherin’s, originally. You stole it from your uncle, Morfin Gaunt, and then used his wand to murder your Muggle father and grandparents. You pinned the murders on Morfin, who spent the rest of his days in Azkaban. Albus Dumbledore destroyed the Horcrux in Slytherin’s ring, so that’s two gone.”

Harry noted with satisfaction the look of disbelief on Voldemort’s hideous face. “I imagine you are wondering how I know all about your precious Horcruxes, Tom?” he taunted. “It was your old nemesis, Albus Dumbledore. He was keeping an eye on your activities for years. Dumbledore discovered your plan for immortality and set about thwarting it by tracking down your Horcruxes — and destroying them. You may have killed Dumbledore, but his legacy lives on; and those of us who believe in him and what he stood for have kept his campaign alive. Now, where were we up to? Horcrux number three, I think. You concealed that one in Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and buried it —”

“Where no one, neither you, nor Dumbledore … not even I, can possibly get at it!” snapped Voldemort scornfully, finally breaking his silence. “It will remain beyond reach, forever!”

“Hmm … well it would have … if it had really been put in the foundations of that building in the first place.”

“What?” exclaimed Voldemort involuntarily.

“Lucius Malfoy slipped up again, I’m afraid. I stunned him and —”

“Now I know you are lying, Potter; it was concealed before you were even born!” said Voldemort disdainfully. “You could not possibly have gotten that Horcrux!”

“Unless I used a Time-Turner,” said Harry, “which is exactly what my friend, Hermione, and I did. We got to Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange on their way to the building site, where they were supposed to replace the record to go into the time capsule with yours. Except it wasn’t your record that went into the time capsule, after all; it was ours. We stunned them, swapped our record for yours, and then memory-charmed them before they entered the building site. We transfigured your copy of Never Say Die back into Hufflepuff’s cup — and destroyed Horcrux number three.” Voldemort was shaking his head in disbelief.

Harry sensed his enemy’s mental turmoil and decided to keep up the onslaught, while he had him on the ropes. “The fourth Horcrux was concealed in Slytherin’s locket, which you stole along with Hufflepuff’s cup from Hepzibah Smith — who you murdered. You ordered Regulus Black to hide it in a cave by the sea, protected by a host of evil enchantments. But they didn’t stop Dumbledore and me.”

“You got to the locket?” gasped Voldemort, reeling like a punch-drunk boxer.

“Yes, we did,” replied Harry, “but unluckily, it was the wrong one. You see, Regulus Black was on to you; he guessed you would reward his hard work and loyalty by murdering him, so he hid a substitute locket in the cave and kept the real one containing your Horcrux. It eventually ended up in the possession of … guess who? Lucius Malfoy. We stole it from him and destroyed Horcrux number four.”

“Malfoy had the locket? He had my Horcrux?” muttered Voldemort to himself. Then his numbed stupor turned to rage. “Malfoy! Come here!” he bellowed. Lucius Malfoy, who was still not recovered from his earlier crash landing, hobbled painfully towards his Master, his head bowed submissively. He made a wide detour around Harry, eying him warily after his previous encounter.

“It’s not the boy you need to worry about, Lucius; you slimy, incompetent, untrustworthy, greedy fool … you have cost me three Horcruxes!”

“B-But, my Lord, I d-didn’t know —” he wheedled obsequiously.

“Of course you didn’t!” bellowed his enraged Master. “Do you think I would trust a bungling buffoon like you with something so crucial? You have failed me for the last time Lucius … Avada Kedavra!” he cried cruelly, pointing his wand at Malfoy, who fell facedown, dead, before his Master. Voldemort glared disdainfully at the body, before waving his wand angrily, flinging it high over the heads of his Death Eaters. 


	19. Like a Circle in a Circle

_**Chapter 19 ~ Like a Circle in a Circle** _

Voldemort was utterly livid; _four of his precious Horcruxes had been destroyed!_ He was _absolutely positive_ the final two were safe; _no one could possibly know about them_. But his day of triumph had turned into a humiliating shambles. Without even bothering to announce his departure, he wrapped his cloak around him, raised his wand, and started uttering the incantation to Disapparate away, through his wards.

“Don’t you want to know about the fifth one, Tom?” blurted Harry as he realised what Voldemort was doing.

“Enough of your childish games, boy! If there is another Horcrux you can know nothing about it! I have had quite enough of your insolence and impudence for one morning,” he snarled, not even bothering to lower his wand. He began intoning the incantation once more.

“Ravenclaw’s wand!” cried Harry desperately.

“What?” hissed Voldemort in horror, standing frozen with his wand arm still raised.

“You heard me,” said Harry calmly, knowing he had Voldemort’s complete attention.

Voldemort lowered his arm and looked incredulously at Harry. “You could not possibly know anything about it; it’s … it’s impossible. And even if you did somehow find out, there is no way to get to … to where it is.”

“But of course there is, Tom. If you could travel to the dream reality to hide it, then someone could just as easily travel there to destroy it … and they did!”

“Even if someone did travel there, they would never be able to locate the wand … even I do not know where it is,” said Voldemort, more to himself than to Harry, trying to convince himself that the Horcrux must be safe.

“You must know the secret of Rowena Ravenclaw’s wand, and how it was handed down from mother to eldest daughter, the wand-bearer. What you probably don’t know is that there is a special bond between the wand-bearer and the wand. There was wand-bearer in the other reality. She was able to sense where you — or at least the Tom Riddle in the dream reality — hid the wand after you concealed your Horcrux in it and departed.”

“No!” cried Voldemort.

“Yes!” said Harry, grinning. “It was concealed right here, at Stonehenge — exactly where you are standing now, in the centre of the great circle. A friend of mine visited the dream reality and met the wand-bearer, who led her to Stonehenge and showed her exactly where the wand was buried. She destroyed the fifth Horcrux.”

Voldemort stared at Harry wordlessly, transfixed. He was completely silent for several minutes while he digested this new, unbelievable information, and wondered, and worried: _Has Potter found out about the sixth Horcrux, also? Have they all been destroyed?_ He could not mention it without divulging its existence. _How on earth did Potter manage to learn about all my Horcruxes? I trusted no one with my greatest secret. He can only have learned about them from my own mind. No, impossible! Potter could not have done it — not after all the careful measures I took to break the link between us. And he certainly could not have done it before the link was terminated; he was utterly unskilled in both Legilimency and Occlumency. No, it could not have been him; it must have been someone else. Potter obviously had helpers — but who is powerful enough to penetrate my mental defences without my even detecting the intrusion? Could it have been that goody-goody fool, Dumbledore? He was, reputedly, a powerful Legilimens, but he never had the opportunity. Our only recent contact was at the Ministry of Magic, and I kept him far too preoccupied duelling; no, it could not have been him._ Voldemort fumed silently. _Who could it be?_ Slowly, a suspicion dawned on him: _Had he been duped?_

“Severus, come here!” he said evenly, betraying no emotion. His audience, who were not privy to his recent deliberations, had no idea why he was summoning Snape again. 

Snape made his way obediently towards Voldemort; his face was an expressionless mask. “Yes, my Lord,” he said, bowing his head.

“Severus, my old and loyal friend,” said Voldemort casually. “I have a puzzle for that brilliant mind of yours: Someone, it seems, has learned some of my most precious secrets … secrets that were known to myself, alone. How could it be possible? Can you suggest an explanation?”

“My Lord, it is well know that the boy’s scar provides a link of sorts between your mind and his; perhaps he has been utilising it to —”

“No, Severus, he most certainly has not … he could not. I severed the link after the debacle at the Ministry of Magic. He is the very last person who could gain access to my thoughts. In any case, I he does not possess the extraordinary Legilimency skills that would be required to penetrate my exceptional mental defences … my ability as an Occlumens is legendary, as you know.”

“Yes, my Lord, I am certain that it is quite impossible to overcome your defences,” said Snape deferentially.

“Yet, clearly, someone has. Tell me, Severus, who would you rate as the most accomplished Legilimens, after myself?”

“I have no idea, my Lord; it is a question I have never considered.”

“But I have, Severus. It is my experience that great Occlumens are invariably also great Legilimens, and there is one mind that I have never been able to penetrate.”

There was a long silence. Snape remained standing silently before his Master, wearing an inscrutable expression on his face.

“Are you not curious, Severus, to know to whom I am referring?”

“Yes, my Lord, indeed. Who is it?”

“ _You_ , Severus!”

“Me? Surely not?” responded Snape woodenly.

“You duplicitous scoundrel, Snape! It was you! It must have been you — no one else has the skill! You have been supplying me with potions … perhaps you included a little something to weaken my defences?”

“No, never, my Lord! You know I have been your faithful servant all these years. Have I not proven my loyalty a thousand times? Did I not kill Dumbledore? How can you still doubt me, Master?”

“It is true that since Dumbledore’s death, I never once doubted you — until this moment! Someone has penetrated my mind; that much is certain. And, it is equally certain that you are the only one who possesses the skill — and who had the opportunity to do it.”

“No, my Lord, it was not me.”

“Then drop your defences, Snape! Allow me to look into your mind. If you are innocent, you can have no objection. Legilimens,” he said, pointing his wand at Snape and staring hard into his eyes for several minutes. 

“You are blocking me, Snape! You are not allowing me fully into your mind. This is proof of your guilt. It is you who learned all my secrets. It is you who betrayed me, you despicable spy!”

“My Lord, please consider: As your double agent all these years, you always appreciated the need for me to keep my thoughts private —”

“But you are no longer a double agent, Snape. You _apparently_ declared your hand, in killing Dumbledore. You have no reason to hide you thoughts from me any longer — do not make ridiculous excuses! The game is up, Snape; you shall never again violate my mind! You know the punishment for what you have done —”

“But, he hasn’t,” blurted out Harry awkwardly. “It wasn’t Snape who found out about your Horcruxes, it —”

“Ha!” exclaimed Voldemort, smiling triumphantly. “Well, Snape, that’s the final nail in your coffin! Potter is trying to defend you … trying to save your worthless life … what better proof could there be of your guilt?”

Harry winced under Snape’s furious glare. Snape obviously believed he still had a chance of talking his way out this one; but Harry had given the game away. He felt completely foolish. He would have apologised, except that would have just made matters worse for Snape.

“The brat is trying to set me up, my Lord; he hates me,” said Snape, trying desperately to save himself from the inevitable Killing Curse. “You saw how he humiliated me —”

“Cease this nonsense, Snape! The boy has given you away and revealed your true colours. You were never my servant, were you Snape? You have been Dumbledore’s lackey from the very beginning, you treacherous back-stabber. Well, you chose the wrong side, Snape. Goodbye. Avada Kedavra!” he hissed venomously.

Harry dived in front of Snape and took the Killing Curse with his Boomerang Shield. Before Voldemort could fire off another curse Harry had placed himself directly in front of Snape.

Voldemort was furious at being thwarted. “Death Eaters!” he bellowed, “the boy cannot be on every side of Snape at once; surround the traitor and kill him!” Death Eaters rushed forward from all sides ready to do their Master’s bidding.

“Go ahead, if you want, but you’ll be killing yourselves,” said Harry, his voice magically amplified. “I’ve extended my protective shield to cover Snape. You saw what happened to your mates before, when they tried to curse me; if you want to join them, go right ahead.” The approaching Death Eaters stopped dead in their tracks and lowered their wands.

“He lies! The boy lies! It is not possible to do what he claims — to protect another with a defensive shield. Kill the traitor!” he yelled, but still his servants hesitated. “Cowards! Do you doubt the word of your Master?” snarled Voldemort. “You! Greyback,” he hissed pointing his wand at Fenrir Greyback, who was on the other side of Snape. “Kill him … before I kill _you_!”

“Y-yes, Master,” stuttered the werewolf, nervously pointing his wand at Snape’s back. “Avada Kedavra!” were his final words, before he fell dead, to the ground.

“Get out of here, the lot of you! And take him with you!” yelled Voldemort in a fury, pointing at the dead werewolf. While the Death Eaters were retreating, Harry turned to face Snape; their faces were just inches apart. He didn’t expect any thanks (not from Snape) and he didn’t get any — just a cold, appraising glare.

“We’ve got to keep Voldemort here until Jason arrives,” whispered Harry, his voice masked by the shocked murmurs from the spectators at the unexpected turn of events. “He’s working on a spell to break Voldemort’s shield.”

Snape nodded; he was obviously extremely uncomfortable at their close proximity. “Is it necessary for me to stand quite so close to you in order to be protected by your shield, Potter?”

“Err … I’m not exactly sure,” said Harry, who was not enjoying their cloying closeness any more than Snape, “but I suppose it’s best to play it safe. Hey, look! He’s about to leave; we have to stop him!”

“Leaving so soon, _O Exalted One_?” taunted Snape.

If looks could kill, Snape would have been dead on the spot. “The stench of treachery here is nauseating; but fear not, Snape, your day will come … when you do not have Potter’s skirts to hide behind. It will be my pleasure to kill you — personally. That is the only remaining item of business I have with you.”

“What a pity you have to be off so soon, Exalted One. I was sure you would wish to hear the rest of the prophecy, before —”

“Prophecy? What prophecy?” snapped Voldemort.

“Oh, you know the one, I’m sure — Trelawney’s prophecy; the one I overheard at the Hog’s Head, all those years ago — well, the first part at least. I repeated it to you; I’m sure you must remember it: “ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ..._ ”

“And do you know the rest of it?” asked Voldemort attempting to sound casual, rising to the bait.

“Certainly,” replied Snape with a smile.

“But, how could you? The prophecy was destroyed in the Department of Mysteries when that fool Malfoy bungled the attempt to obtain it. Trelawney was in a trance when she gave it, you said, so she could not possibly remember any of it.”

“That is correct, but there is the person to whom she gave the prophecy. I heard it — the whole prophecy — from the one to whom it was given — my _true master_ , Albus Dumbledore.”

“True master?” spat Voldemort. “How could that Muggle-loving fool have been your _true master_? You killed him! Even I could no longer doubt your loyalty after that.”

“Albus Dumbledore,” said Snape reverently, “had the most brilliant mind I ever encountered. You were never a match for him; he outwitted you at every turn. He was mortally ill when he begged me to kill him, in order to convince you of my loyalty. Even in death he outsmarted you, fooled you, and defeated you.”

Voldemort was white with rage. He could rant and rave and call Dumbledore a fool and abuse him as much as he wanted, but it would do no good now. He had grossly underestimated his old foe. Never for a moment had he suspected that Dumbledore had uncovered the secret of his Horcruxes, and then set about methodically destroying them. But Dumbledore was gone now; he was no longer a threat. The real threat was Potter — just as it had been prophesied all those years ago. He was desperate to hear the rest of the prophecy, but he managed to keep his voice calm and measured. “Well, then, tell me how this supposed prophecy ends … if indeed you know.”

“Oh, I know,” taunted Snape, “but I am not at all sure that you will like it when you hear it. Perhaps you would prefer _not_ to know your fate?”

“Allow me to be the judge of that; now stop prevaricating and tell me the rest of the infernal prophecy!”

“Certainly, my pleasure: _“... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”_

“ _Hmm_ ,” said Voldemort to himself, considering the words. _Mark him? Yes, of course I marked him — with that accursed scar; but my equal? Never! And one of us must destroy the other — well, Hades knows I’ve done my best to get rid of the brat. The part about him having the power to defeat me is just repetition; I’ve heard it before. But what can be the meaning of ‘he will have power the Dark Lord knows not’? It cannot be denied that the boy has exhibited astonishing power today — but what is his power?_

“Stuff and nonsense!” bluffed Voldemort derisively.

“Then you would not agree that Potter — the boy standing before you, unharmed, despite all your efforts to kill him — has great power? I would have thought it rather obvious that he has developed quite extraordinary power. And, as the prophecy says, you haven’t a clue what it is.”

“Well, what is it then?” snapped Voldemort, swallowing the bait.

“Love,” said Harry.

“Love!” spat Voldemort contemptuously. “Love is not power! You know nothing about it, boy.”

“Don’t I?” asked Harry, smiling. “All you know is evil, hatred, and violence. You control people through fear, pain, and death. But the power of Love is far greater — which is why it is _I_ who will destroy _you_!”

“Hah!” exclaimed Voldemort. “Despite all your pretensions of power, you cannot even touch me!”

“Only because you are usurping the power of all those entranced Death Eaters; and even then, you cannot breach my shield. The power of Love is far greater than the power of hatred.”

“Nonsense!” screamed Voldemort. “I have far more power than what I derive from those few dozen servants who I am using to project my Invincibility Shield. I draw power from _all_ of my followers, all of those who worship me, every single one! That is my great strength! I control them, hundreds of Death Eaters, and use their power as I wish. Soon, I will be victorious and everyone — everyone who I allow to live — will worship me! Thousands will give me their power! And look at you, Potter, standing there, all alone, with no one but that wretched turncoat Snape! Ha, what have you to —”But Voldemort stopped in mid-sentence because, at that very moment, four witches and three wizards materialised from nowhere. They immediately spread out to form a circle within the larger circle of entranced Death Eaters. They raised their wand arms at a forty-five degree angle, pointing towards the centre of the circle. Bright beams of golden light emanated from their wands, converging exactly beneath the point where the green beams from the Death Eaters’ wands met. They formed a circle within a circle, a translucent yellow cone within a green cone, surrounding Voldemort, Harry, and Snape; but unlike the Death Eaters, they were not in a trance. Jason beckoned to Snape, who rushed over to him in the confusion. After a whispered conversation, Snape moved away to stand between Jason and Lupin; the others moved around to balance the circle. Snape had obviously been given the incantation they were using because he raised his wand, which emitted a golden beam that met the others at the centre of the circle.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Voldemort suspiciously. “How did you get past my wards?”

“Well, Tom, it looks like I’m not alone after all,” said Harry, feeling enormously relieved. “Perhaps I should introduce you? This is Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and this —”

“Wonderful!” said Voldemort. “I won’t have to rely on that quisling, Weedly, to dispose of her, after all. Avada Kedavra,” he said pointing his wand at her. There was a flash of green light, but nothing happened, except for McGonagall turning a withering glare on Voldemort.

“Still having trouble with that new wand of yours, Tom?” mocked Harry. Obviously, whatever magic the inner circle was using, it incorporated a powerful shield, possibly a Boomerang Shield. “And these are some of my Hogwarts teachers: Professors Lupin, Tonks, and Trolove. And my friends: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Ginny Weasley; she visited your castle, remember?” taunted Harry.

After failing to even streak McGonagall’s mascara, Voldemort tried another Killing Curse on Lupin; but when that also failed, he realised it was useless. However, he became so incensed at the memory of the humiliation visited upon him by Ginny Weasley that he tried one on her, anyway — with the same result. Clearly frustrated, he decided he had suffered enough humiliation for one day. Pointing his wand upwards, he gave the incantation to Disapparate. But nothing happened.

“You really should demand your money back from Mr Ollivander, Tom, I think he sold you a dud,” sniggered Harry, as Voldemort repeatedly tried, and failed, to Disapparate away. In desperation, he attempted to walk out of the circle, but he couldn’t — it was totally impenetrable.

“Hmm … looks like you’re trapped, Tom,” said Harry, grinning.

“This is all rather pointless, Potter,” retorted Voldemort, attempting to regain his composure. “As I attempted to explain to you earlier, this is an _impasse_ , a _stalemate_ — or are you really too stupid to understand the meaning of the words? Let me spell it out for you, boy: We both have a protective shield. I cannot touch _you_ , and you cannot touch _me_. So what, exactly, is the point of attempting to detain me? Let me assure you: I do not enjoy the pleasure of your company and I rather hoped that the feeling might be mutual.”

Harry looked questioningly at Jason, who nodded and said with a wicked grin, “Harry, did you ever wonder what colour undies these _Infernal_ _Emperors_ wear? I’m betting they’re black. Shall we find out?”

“Levicorpus,” said Harry, unnecessarily pointing his wand at Voldemort for theatrical effect. Suddenly Voldemort was hanging upside-down, five feet above the ground, his robes hanging over his head to reveal two skinny white legs and a pair of black underpants. A cry of outrage rang out from the assembled Death Eaters, many of whom charged towards the inner circle, flinging curses. Unfortunately for them, the shield incorporated into the magical circle was a Boomerang Shield, and the Death Eaters’ curses rebounded on them with devastating effect. When the loyal Death Eaters realised they could not use magic, they attempted to physically attack the witches and wizards. But they were unable to touch them or penetrate their circle to go to their Master’s assistance. There was nothing they could do but witness the wretched humiliation of their Master, who was screaming at Harry to put him down. 

“Liberacorpus,” said Harry obligingly. Voldemort fell in a crumpled heap on the ground. As he staggered unsteadily to his feet, Harry grinned, pointing his wand menacingly at him. “Well, Tom, it looks like it’s not a stalemate, after all. I think the correct word is _checkmate_. My shield is working just fine, but yours seems to be on the blink. I think my friends may have broken it. And they also appear to be preventing you from leaving. Looks bad, Tom; would you like to say a final farewell to your supporters before I kill you? Oh, and by the way, you won’t be coming back again. You are no longer immortal; _all_ of your Horcruxes have been destroyed — every … last … one … of them.”

Voldemort knew he had reached the end of the road. But despite the utterly unexpected reversal of fortunes of the day, he was still proud, still arrogant, and still totally committed to his cause and his evil beliefs. He dusted down his robes and asked casually, “How many Horcruxes did you destroy, Potter?”

Harry had a flash of inspiration. He guessed what Voldemort had in mind, and although it wasn’t how he had always imagined the final scene, he somehow decided it was for the best. Maybe his connection to the _Source_ had subtly changed him. He was no longer consumed with hatred for Voldemort; he no longer hungered for revenge. He did not want to kill anyone in cold blood … not even Voldemort … not if he didn’t have to. Maybe this was a better way for it to end.

“I repeat,” said Voldemort testily, “how many of my Horcruxes did you destroy?”

“I told you,” replied Harry, “I even described each one and where it was hidden. They were all destroyed — all _five_ of them!”

“What are you on about Harry?” blurted out Ron. “Can’t you count?”

Hermione, who was standing next to Ron in the circle, and had immediately tweaked to Harry’s plan, gave Ron a withering glare and said pointedly, “Sorry, Ron, but we haven’t told you about the _last_ one yet, the one in Ravenclaw’s wand.”

Ron did not understand why Harry and Hermione were both claiming they had only destroyed five Horcruxes, but the expression on Hermione’s face made it clear that she was not to be contradicted. Obviously something was afoot. “Great, wonderful,” said Ron. “So we’ve got all five of them. Now we can dispose of this evil git for good!” 

“Silence, imbecile!” barked Voldemort at Ron. He had the information he needed.

The sixth Horcrux was safe! But, of course, it had to be — even he had no idea where it was concealed, only that it was in some other dream reality. Snape could not possibly have obtained the information from his mind because it wasn’t there; he’d Obliviated the memory. The final Horcrux was intact, and so, too, was his immortality. He would die with dignity on his own terms … and he would return … and the next time he would win.

“Faithful Death Eaters,” he said in a haughty, magnified voice. “I must admit that things have not gone to plan today. I underestimated the power of our enemies, the cunning of Dumbledore, the treachery of Snape, and the unexpected power of the Potter boy. Today, we have lost a battle, but we shall win the war, I promise you! When I lost my body attempting to kill Potter as a baby, something most unusual happened: My body disappeared in a flash of light; nothing was left but my wand. Why was that? Because, I had taken measures to guarantee my immortality. My enemies, who seek my destruction, have gone to great lengths to thwart those measures. They delude themselves into believing that they have succeeded — _but they have not!_ I have outwitted them all!

“The time has come for me to make a tactical retreat and to discard this body, the way a snake discards its superfluous skin. But this I promise you: I shall return, very soon, and I shall be victorious! You will know with certainty that I am indeed immortal, devoted followers. When I die, there will be a flash of light, some smoke, and this body will disappear — completely.”

Voldemort stood up straight and stared hatefully at his nemesis, Harry Potter. “This upstart Potter thinks that I, the great Lord Voldemort, the Immortal One, will allow him the pleasure of killing me — but I will not. I cannot be killed. I am truly immortal! Yes, my body will be destroyed today; but I shall not even allow Potter that small pleasure. I shall destroy it myself, just as I did seventeen years ago when I first proved my immortality. Devoted followers, remain faithful and wait for me; I shall return very soon. The disappearance of my body will be my pledge to you!”

Voldemort turned and purposefully pointed his wand at his hated enemy. “I fooled you, Potter, along with your precious Dumbledore, Snape, and all the rest — there was a _sixth_ Horcrux. But it’s too late now for you to destroy it — _Avada Kedavra_ ,” he trumpeted victoriously.

In the seconds it took for the flash of green light to erupt from Voldemort’s wand and rush towards Harry before rebounding off his Boomerang Shield and speeding back to strike Voldemort square in the chest, Harry just had time to cry out, “I destroyed it!” In the moment before he died, the expression of jubilation vanished from Voldemort’s face. There was no flash of light, no smoke, no pyrotechnics — nothing. Voldemort did not go out in a blaze of glory; but, to the horror of his astounded followers, he simply toppled backwards, crashing lifelessly to the ground, his face frozen in an expression of indescribable horror and defeat.

_**Epilogue coming up ….**_


	20. Eplilogue

**Epilogue**

The Prime Minister shook his head wearily and tried once more to make sense of the Ministry of Defence report that lay on his desk. His fruitless efforts were interrupted by a sudden flash of green flames in the empty fireplace from which a spinning figure emerged. _Ah, just the chap to explain this_ , thought the Prime Minister, looking up expectantly. But to his surprise it was not the Minister of Magic at all. Instead, a thin, bespectacled, balding man, whose most remarkable feature was the bright red colour of his remaining hair, stepped from the grate, brushing ash from his tattered, long, green robes, which looked much the worse for wear.

“Who the devil are you?” demanded the Prime Minister, leaping from his seat. “Why were you not properly announced by the little froggy fellow in the painting over there?”

“Err, sorry about that, Mr Prime Minister. Terribly sorry, sir … err, new to the job and all that, haven’t quite caught up on all the protocol yet, but —”

“Where’s Fudge?”

“Err … dead, unfortunately. He was killed by —”

“He-Who-Done-It?” 

“Err, do you mean He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Yes, yes, He-Who-Whatever-His-Name-Is. It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Prime Minister, it was.”

“Then you are the new Minister of Magic, I suppose?” queried the Prime Minister, looking doubtfully at the scruffy individual standing uncomfortably before him.

“Well, err, yes, sort of — Acting Minister of Magic, actually. Arthur Weasley’s the name, sir,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling enthusiastically.

“Weasley? _Where on earth do these people get these ridiculous names?_ ” he muttered under his breath, before gingerly shaking the proffered hand and resuming his seat behind his impressively large desk. “Have a seat, Weasley,” he added, waving his guest towards the visitor’s chair.

Arthur Weasley sat awkwardly. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Prime Minister, but I really can’t stay very long. I’ve just come to introduce myself, really, and to assure you that everything is under control. I must get back to the Ministry of Magic immediately; my goodness, you have no idea of the state things are in. It will take months to get everything back onto a proper footing. And then there are all those Death Eaters to be charged and tried —”

“I was hoping you might be able to explain this to me,” said the Prime Minister, picking up the report from his desk and waving it under Weasley’s nose. “It’s from General Fotheringay-Eccleston, the commander of the SAS. Two days ago, his troops finally found Stonehenge, only to discover some kind of crazy country dance in progress. Before they could shoot anyone, they found themselves frozen and unable to move, and they were forced to watch a most unnatural display. To use the general’s precise words: ‘There were several hundred weirdo-hippy-degenerate-types in medieval fancy dress, dancing what appeared to be the tango — many of them were disgusting poofs who were dancing with each other.’ He goes on to say that some of the freaks who were not dancing walked around pointing sticks at the dancers, making them disappear. His men were unable to move until all the weirdoes were gone. All that was left was a small ferret, cowering behind one of the enormous stones. Apparently, it led his men a merry chase before being finally caught and caged. The men enjoyed the sport so much that they decided to adopt it as their company mascot.”

“Yes, well, it was all a bit chaotic really, Prime Minister. You see, the wards and all the disillusionment charms were removed to allow the Order in to arrest all the Death Eaters. We completely forgot about those Muggle chappies with their big sticks, err … what do you call them?”

“Guns,” said the Prime Minister, shaking his head despairingly.

“Guns? Is that what you call those things? How fascinating. I’ve always wondered how they work. Err, well, anyway, we were so busy with the Death Eaters that we didn’t have time to memory-charm the chaps with the, err … big sticky things. But don’t worry, we’ll send some Oblivators around to make them forget all about it.”

“These Death Eaters, as I recall, are He-Who-Done-It’s henchmen. Does this mean the terrible villain has been defeated?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, indeed. In fact, he’s dead — completely dead.”

“Completely dead?” asked the Prime Minister hesitantly. _Was there any other way of being dead_ , he wondered.

“Oh, yes,” replied Weasley enthusiastically. “He’s definitely dead. He won’t need to be killed again — ever!”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” said the Prime Minister, his face lighting up. “So was it that boy? Harry what’s-his-name?”

“Harry Potter? Yes it was, Prime Minister. As you can imagine, he is quite the hero of our world. He saved us all — and you Muggles, too.” 

“And what about those dreadful _misdemeanours_ , which make everyone feel miserable — and then blame the government?”

“Dementors? Oh, they were all destroyed at Twickenham, sir, last week.”

“Ah, I was sure your lot must have been involved. Of course, the bible bashers have been having a bit of a field day. The Catholics got most of the Irish spectators, of course, but it’s been a bit of an unholy free-for-all for the souls of the English fans. The evangelists have been telling them that those terrible things they felt — but couldn’t see — were Satan’s hordes, which where driven away by the angels of the Lord. They’re claiming it was a miracle. And then, there was that terrible disaster at Heathrow, with the planes crashing —”

“Err … yes, look … I’m terribly sorry, Prime Minister, about the appalling loss of life; it was all You-Know-Who’s doing.”

“Yes, of course, I guessed as much after Fudge’s warning. Naturally, all the terrorist groups immediately claimed responsibility: Hezbollah, the PLO, the Real IRA, and so on; and every bunch on the loony fringe put their hands up too. There were the Anti-Vivisectionist Vegan Vanguard, the Welsh Liberation Lobby, the Foxhunting Abolitionists, and on and on. It was all rather fortunate really.”

“Fortunate?” asked Arthur uncomprehendingly.

“Well, of course. I decided to stay out of it and let them slog it out for the limelight in front of the television cameras. And, of course, everyone thinks the same people must have been behind the Stonehenge _bombing_ , so we’re off the hook on that one too … it’s all rather convenient really.”

“But surely, Prime Minister, you are going to tell them the truth? Well, maybe not about You-Know-Who, and magic, but, err … yes … I see your problem. You can’t really tell people the truth, can you? How unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? Tell them the truth?” snorted the Prime Minister incredulously. “Good heavens, man, you are green! Listen, Weasley, you won’t last a week in politics if you go around telling people the truth. What an absurd notion,” he said, shaking his head disbelievingly. “Anyway, all the terrorists and other loonies are enjoying the free publicity. Mind you, the evangelists, who were on a bit of a roll after Twickenham, are having none it. As far as they are concerned, the Heathrow catastrophe was the hand of the Lord — Sodom and Gomorrah all over again. Lloyds and all the other big insurance companies are actively supporting the churches on this one — because if it’s an _Act of God_ , they don’t have to pay out. Depending upon which bunch of bible bashers you listen to, it was either divine retribution for our sins; a warning to repent and mend our evil ways before it’s too late; or the work of the devil, himself. The evangelists haven’t had it so good since Africa was discovered and divvyed up.”

Arthur didn’t have a clue what the Prime Minister was talking about. He had been waiting impatiently for him to pause for a breath; he was dying to ask him how Muggles got aeroplanes to stay up in the air without magic. But he became distracted by all the fascinating Muggle contraptions in the room. There were _four_ felly-tones on the Prime Minister’s desk! 

Arthur reached a hand out tentatively towards a bright red one, but before he could touch it, the Prime Minister gasped, “For heavens sake, man, don’t pick that one up! It’s the hot-line to the White House. I really don’t think the President is ready to hear about witches and wizards and magic, just yet … although, apparently he still believes in the tooth fairy. You know, this Potter boy of yours deserves a knighthood — I would even be prepared to waive the customary voluntary contribution to our party’s electoral war chest; but of course that’s not possible, because your world must remain secret. I suppose you have your own special awards?”

“Yes, we do, Prime Minister. In fact, we have created a special class of the Order of Merlin just for him; but unfortunately he’s refusing to accept it. Harry hates fame and notoriety. He can’t stand all the acclaim and accolades.”

“How extraordinary,” said the Prime Minister, who could never seem to get enough.

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

It was the day before Christmas and Harry, Ron, and Ginny were sitting comfortably in the lounge, together with Hermione, who had changed her plans for the Christmas break and was spending it at the Burrow. Mrs Weasley had invited most of the Order for Christmas Day, so it was going to be a huge victory celebration, and everyone was feeling excited.

“Is Percy coming tomorrow?” asked Harry. Ron almost choked on his pumpkin juice. “I just thought your mum would want to invite him … you know, being Christmas and everything.”

“Come on, Harry,” said Ron. “Percy wouldn’t get past the gate. We’d be standing in line to hex the git! Of course, we could always use any bits of him that were left to decorate the Christmas tree.”

“Actually, Mum did invite him,” said Ginny, “like she does every year. But fortunately, he can’t make it — due to work commitments.”

“Work commitments?” asked Hermione. “But surely he doesn’t have a job anymore?”

“Dad gave him one,” said Ginny. “I think Mum insisted. It was pretty generous, I thought, after Percy fired Dad.”

“So, what job did he get?” asked Harry. “I hope he’s back measuring cauldron bottoms.”

“Or Blast-Ended Skrewt bottoms,” added Ron, grinning wickedly.

“I don’t think he’d like that much,” sniggered Ginny. “You know how he always wanted to have a big title and be in charge of something important? Well Dad made him Deputy Undersecretary of Corrections in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Which means what, exactly?” asked Harry.

“Percy is the Residential Superintendent of Azkaban — meaning he’s stuck on the island along with several hundred Death Eaters — and his Special Assistant.”

“And guess who the Special Assistant to the Residential Superintendent of Azkaban is?” asked Ron gleefully. “Umbridge! Isn’t that so romantic?”

The four of them were rolling around in fits of laughter.

“It was actually a pretty smart move on your father’s part,” observed Hermione. “It was probably the only way to save Percy from the retribution of the twins and his other brothers.”

“And sister!” added Ginny, bristling. “But he can’t hide in Azkaban all his life. The Bat Bogey from Hell will be waiting patiently for him.”

“Looks like he’ll miss the Order of Merlin presentation ceremony next week,” said Ron. “Not that he was going to get one, anyway.”

“I just wish I could miss it,” said Harry irritably. 

“Harry, you are going to have to accept the special Order of Merlin Award the Ministry want to give you; you’ll have no peace until you do,” said Hermione.

“I just want to be left alone to get on with my life,” complained Harry. He was sitting on the couch snuggled up close to Ginny. “There’s been this horrible, dark cloud hanging over the horizon for years. I couldn’t see any future, except for the final fight with Voldemort. Whenever anyone looked at me or talked to me, I knew they were thinking about it too … about me being the _Chosen One_ who was destined to fight him. It feels so good, now that it’s all over — you have no idea. It’s like a huge burden that I’d been carrying for years has suddenly gone. Now, all I want to do is live a normal life, just like everyone else.”

“Harry, that’s not going to happen, and you’re just going to have to get used to it,” said Ginny, squeezing his hand sympathetically. “After a while, people will stop making such a big fuss, but you are always going to be someone special in the wizarding world.”

“But why me?” asked Harry. “What about Jason? He did at least as much as me. And what about Dumbledore? He did more than anyone in bringing Voldemort down. And there were others, too: like Snape. And you destroyed the Horcrux in Ravenclaw’s wand, Hermione. You all know perfectly well that I didn’t defeat Voldemort by myself.”

“Look, Harry,” said Hermione, “it’s just the way the media always present things. They never show the real complexity and detail of life, just simplifications and celebrities. Most people just want something simple to latch onto and to believe — and the media provide it. Just ignore it all! Your friends know the whole story; we know it wasn’t just you. And we know the real you, Harry. We’re not going to believe all the cardboard-cut-out superhero nonsense that Rita Skeeter and her cronies are dishing up these days.”

“Yeah, that’s right, mate,” said Ron with a grin. “Anytime all that invincibility carry-on starts getting to you, I’m always ready to put you in your place with a good trouncing at wizard chess. Look, just let them give you their special Order of Merlin Award, make a short speech, and then forget about it. Anyway, we’ll all be there at the ceremony; the eight of us who put up the inner circle shield at Stonehenge are also getting Order of Merlin Awards,” said Ron, not looking the least bit unhappy about it.

“And in your speech, you can tell people that it wasn’t just you who defeated Voldemort,” said Ginny. “You can tell them that there were others and that Dumbledore was the architect of the whole campaign.”

“That’s right,” said Hermione, “but I don’t think Jason will appreciate it if you mention him. He kept a low profile at Stonehenge, and I think he wants to keep it that way. If word gets out about his real role, he might disappear back to his cave in the Himalayas or go walkabout in Australia. McGonagall would not be happy — she’d have another position to fill.”

“So he’s definitely staying, then?” asked Harry eagerly.

“I talked to Professor Lupin when he came by earlier today,” replied Hermione. “You know he’s accepted the job of rebuilding the Auror division, and Tonks is going to be working with him?”

“Yes, that sounds nice and cosy. I hope they get some work done,” said Ginny, grinning impishly. “Did Lupin tell you who will be taking over their teaching positions?” she asked.

“Apparently, Professor McGonagall will be filling in as the Transfiguration teacher until she finds a replacement for Tonks. She’s persuaded Jason to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Wow, that’ll be great!” said Harry enthusiastically. “It’s amazing, the stuff he knows. I wonder if he’ll agree to keep teaching me sometimes in the evenings.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Hermione. “You two seem to have really bonded, which isn’t surprising, given his feelings about your mother.”

“Yeah, I guess, you’re right, Hermione. It’s funny, it used to really bother me — you know, about Jason and my mum — but not anymore. I really hope he stays around after the end of the school year. I’ve kind of gotten to like him. But, hang on … if Jason’s teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts … then who will be teaching Potions?” he asked warily.

Hermione grinned. “I think you’ve guessed, Harry.”

“Oh no!” groaned Ron. “Don’t tell me Snape’s coming back! Do you think it’s too late to drop Potions and switch to Muggle Studies or Care of Magical Creatures or something?”

“It’s funny,” said Hermione, “but I really feel different about him now I know the whole story about him and Miranda. You can see his human side and how much he’s suffered. After meeting Miranda, I can really understand how she felt about him.”

“Oh, my god!” snorted Ron. “Here we go — it’s Gilderoy bloody Lockhart all over again! Are you going to be sending Snape a Valentine, then?”

Hermione blushed. “Stop being ridiculous, Ron. You are such an immature prat! I suppose you’ll be accusing me of going off to snog Snape now, whenever I go down to the Potions dungeon to brew Lupin’s Wolfsbane,” she said angrily.

“Won’t Snape be brewing it?” asked Ginny.

“Err … well, no. Lupin asked me if I would continue making it for him each month — he prefers mine to Snape’s.”

“Oh, dear! Snape is _not_ going to like that,” said Ginny. “He’ll be furious when he finds out. I don’t think you need to worry about love blossoming down in the Potion’s dungeon, Ron,” said Ginny with a wicked grin.

“Why would I be worried?” asked Ron innocently. Then, quickly changing the subject, he said to Harry, “You know, Snape might treat you a bit better, mate, after you saved his miserable life.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” replied Harry. “He’ll never forgive me for saving him.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, grinning wickedly. “He probably would have preferred to die after you used his own curse on him to show everyone at Stonehenge his undies. I think you are going to rather wish you weren’t taking Potions, Harry. Of course, you could always try apologising to him tomorrow.”

“What? Is that git coming for Christmas?” spluttered Ron.

“Of course,” said Ginny. “He’s part of the Order. He played a crucial role in Voldemort’s defeat. Of course Mum’s invited him.”

Harry and Ron groaned loudly.

 

                                       ~~~ The End ~~~ 


End file.
